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Show Us Your Desk? You Asked for It!!!
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Floral Retribution
Floral Retribution
I slink into the plant place and snag a tub of roses—
the kind that is an irritant to weepy eyes and noses.
I could have sent her chocolates, could have brought her fruit,
magazines or houseplants or other sick-room loot;
but she’s such a social-climber, such a diamond Deb
that she won’t even socialize with old friends on the Web.
She has her chi-chi social circle—stylish, rich and arty,
so cannot bother to attend her best friend’s birthday party.
Yet when she breaks her leg and is in need of a diversion,
her new friends stay away as though they have a mass aversion
to hospitals and folks who do not share complete perfection.
In short, her newest “besties” stage the ultimate defection.
And thus it is her old friends that she calls to cheer her day,
forgetting that she is the one who threw us all away.
So when I come into her room and hear her cough and wheeze,
I’ll just withdraw with card and gift and my apologies.
She needs no further problems added to her maladies.
It’s been so long that I forgot about her allergies!
Prompt Words for today are snag, tub, rose, slink and fruit.
Fog
Fog
What draws me to the cabin that beckons through the wood?
I’d take the rail-straight pathway if I only could,
but I have no legs to walk that sidewalk in.
Nor can I see the night around it, black as deepest sin.
I only feel that darkness, for I have no eyes.
I cannot see the pine woods or things in any guise.
I cannot smell the fog that lifts from forest floor.
I cannot see the shaft of light that leads me to its door.
I cannot feel the cushion of bracken or of pine,
for all of these sensations are no longer mine.
The scene they build in memory may not be as it seems,
for what I am remembering may be the stuff of dreams.
My Room
My Room
Papers on the desktop, laptops on the bed,
sticky notes for everything I can’t store in my head:
birthdays of my family, phone numbers of friends–
all the things I need to buy, the listing never ends.
Shoes up on my night table because my new dog chews
everything that he can reach; but, especially, shoes!
Two alarm clocks, one for me for when I must get up,
the other for the medicine I must give the pup.
Stacks of books and manuscripts finished and unfinished,
and an empty Kleenex box I know should be replenished.
Flashlights, lanterns, batteries–for when the power goes out.
In the rainy season, it will happen—have no doubt.
Closets crammed from wall-to-wall with sizes twelve to grander,
I’d probably have a lot to wear if I could get a gander
at what’s inside but I’m afraid it won’t be happening soon;
for thoughts of organizing it make me want to swoon!
Many pictures on the wall and bookshelves full of books,
sculptures on the mantel, in crannies and in nooks.
There’ll be a new addition in about a minute,
for my room is not completed until I am in it!
For the dVerse Poets prompt: Rooms.
I’m Gonna Mount a Girl!
One of my favorite bloggers and my current favorite of his blogs. He’s a bit irreverent and crude but his word-worthiness excuses a bit of both.
Oh my god:
I guess this was bound to happen now that Trump’s been elected. Still, I thought it would be catch-and-release. At least at first.
You know what bothers me more than anything about this story in our local paper? Our town is allowing us to hunt womeninside the refuge. The whole point of that refuge was to give women a space where they could roam free without fear of predation. We voted on it, people!
Additionally, I happen to know that many of these women were raised in captivity. They have no natural fear of hunters, having been hand fed and cared for by humans almost since birth. Where’s the sport in that? This is the very definition of “canned hunting”, and I for one am not looking forward to shortly seeing Dick Cheny come strolling past my house with a loaded 12-guage on his shoulder.
Which…
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Hibiscus: FOTD May 26
This is the other new hibiscus I bought a few days ago, but must admit I bought one yesterday as well. My vivero has started raising some new varieties and putting them out on the street when their flowers are at their height and who can resist? Not me.
For Cee’s FOTD.
Fallen: FOTD May 25, 2020
Incredible Ensemble!!! Hilarious and Talented String Quartet.
And Owl Moved to Some Other Tree
I’ve been trying to find a place for this hardwood carving of my husband’s for 19 years! It just didn’t go in the doggie domain. It needed its own space. A couple of months ago, I went over the dark wood with a white wash, then painted and wiped or sanded off the claws, eyes and letters. I wanted it to look weathered and friendlier than the rich dark wood had looked. Then it sat in my studio. A month later, I drilled and screwed in screws and wire on the back to hang it from. But where to hang it? The pistachio tree next to my hammock already had a Soleri bell and a little painting of a prehispanic figure in the knothole. (Thanks, Jesus Lopez Vega.) Then as I was walking up to the house, I pulled at the trunk of one of the really tall palms and the wood just gave way in my hands. I peeled off a few of the leaf shafts still clinging to the tree and voila! A space just right for the carving. Today I found a big nail and hung it, sorta tucking it in to the frond shafts. Perfect. With the color, it sorta blends into the tree, but as you get closer, you can read the message, “And Owl Moved to Some Other Tree.” R.I.P. Bob. I hope you are watching.
Click on photos to enlarge and read captions.
You can probably see it now, but can you read what it says?
For Sunday Trees 445
Isaac and Nora: Loveliest Song You Will Ever Hear.
This performance by a father and his children is so touching. It was sent to me by my friend Sharon who received it from our friend Lynda. Isaac and Nora are two talented siblings from Quimper, France (originally from Seoul, South Korea) who melt the hearts around the world with their cover of a Cuban song “Veinte Años” . … The song is so popular that it has dozens of covers like Pablo Milanés, Diego El Cigala or the young Spanish Silvia Pérez Cruz.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 