Category Archives: Uncategorized

Heart of Hibiscus: FOTD, Oct 11, 2019

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For Cee’s FOTD

Canned Cantos

 

Canned Cantos

Behold the simple can of soup.
Outside it’s hard. Inside it’s goop.
Cream of mushroom, turkey noodle—
kids adore the whole kaboodle.

Crass men raid the chicken coop
to gather poultry for our soup.
They chop up onions, slice potatoes,
murder mushrooms, slay tomatoes.

Must Warhol then immortalize
this canned concoction I despise?
The world agreed. He must. He should.
They called his canned art very good.

Yet this icon that he chose
to paint and to overexpose,
I could easily view myself
lined up on my kitchen shelf.

Why pay a thousand bucks or more
for something that each day I pour
into a pan and then ingest?
I think, friends, that it was a test

to see how gullible we are.
As we made this elf a star,
fanned his fame, increased his rank,
he laughed his way right to the bank.

For dVerse Poets Andy Warhol prompt.

Green Door

 

Green Door

Not a wall. A door at most.
Barely more than lath and post.
Peep hole worn by questing fingers––
a lost soul whose presence lingers.
What has this fortress kept inside?
What prisoner trapped? What captive died?
We have no idea––none at all
of what was kept behind this wall.
As paint peels off and dust invades,
the story ages, wanes and fades.
The story too grim to express?
They leave it up to us to guess.

 

For Friday Fictioneer45: 77 words

Thursday Doors, Oct 10, 2019

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For Norm’s Thursday Doors Prompt.

Turning the Tables on the Milkman


Turning the Tables on the Milkman

Throw clothes over your birthday suit, it’s fast becoming dawn.
We need to be respectable, so put your jammies on.
The milkman will be coming and it would be a plus
if when we met him at the door, we had some clothes on us.
Mere speed will not suffice, dear. We also need some raiment.
No need to let the milkman in on our entertainment.

For milk upon our Fruit Loops, there are obstacles to hurdle

if we want to eat before the milk begins to curdle.
My walker in the hallway, your cane dropped on the floor,
the stairway to maneuver, the deadbolt on the door.
Folks as old as us should have passed this lusty phase.
Bed for us should merely be a place to laze.

So smooth your messy hair, dear, and try to look less daring.
No need to let the milkman in on fun times we’ve been sharing.
We should be sharing pastimes like t.v. and crossword puzzles.
Who would suspect that we are still into passion’s nuzzles?
So in spite of all the cheap jokes, no milkman will succeed me.
When it comes to filling orders, my wife still seems to need me!

Prompts for today are dawn, suit, platitude and plus.

Succulent Salad: Flower of the Day, Oct 10, 2019

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Kalanchoe and Snail.

For Cee’s FOTD

Still Life with Baby Shoe: FOTD , Oct 9, 2019

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For Cee’s FOTD

Portrait of the Artist

My husband was an artist and so it seemed fitting to write a profile/portrait of him that described him primarily in terms of color.

Portrait of the Artist

The artist in you
understood color so well.
And yet, even as you layered on
red and green,
so much of you was blue.

Your white hair,
loosened from the pony tail

and streaming down your back
in your wild man look,
prompted strangers to ask
if you were a shaman,
or declare you to be one.

But there was
that black in you
that altered it,
that shade created
by the blend
of white and black
you knew so well.

The red that flamed out from your work,
subtly put there even in places
where it had no logical purpose for being,

that red tried to make things right.

Yet all of us
who knew you well

knew the blue.
It was the background color
of all of your days.

It was the blanket
in which we wrapped
ourselves
at night,

trying to be close,
but so often
divided

by it.

For fifteen years, I tried
to paint you yellow.
There were splashes of it, surely,

throughout our lives together.
You on the stage, reading your heart,
me in the audience, recognizing
all the colors caught within you.

Finding the pictures you had taken of me
studying your work at the art show,

those pictures you had snapped surreptitiously
even before we  met,

I discovered, after your passing,
that you had recognized
me even then, when I thought
I was the only one
angling for a meeting—
sure of my need to know
those secret parts of you

that I will never know
now that you have given yourself
to whatever color your ever-after
has delivered you to.

A new life later,
I am suffused
by my own canvas
of memories of you—
every other pigment
splashed against
a vivid background
of yellow.

 

The dVerse Poetics prompt is to create a profile or self-profile in verse. Go HERE to read additional poems written to this prompt by others.

Hibiscus: FOTD Oct 7, 2019

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One to six of these newly bloomed ladies greet me every day as I leave my kitchen door on the way to the garage. Who needs a florist?

For Cee’s FOTD

“Mr. Crow” reblogged – again (+bonus)

Hello, LifeLessons readers, ForgottenMan still here.

Judy and Leslie are winding down their “writing intensive”, still focused on writing and polishing their manuscripts. While they toil away Judy asked me to reblog some of her older poems. It’s a fun gig for me as I stroll back through her blog archive, wondering which to select. I did this once before, when she was on a trip. That time I arbitrarily chose to look only at her oldest posts, from 2013  (her first year blogging) to 2014. So I’m looking at 2015 posts this go-around.

I’m kinda cheating tonight. I’m reblogging a poem she first posted in May, 2015, but I’m linking to the version she then tweaked and reblogged in 2017. It’s one of my favorites. It’s called “Mr. Crow“. You can enjoy it, too, by clicking HERE, if you like.

(I almost reblogged “Disinclination (Sleep Phobia)” instead due to the lateness of the hour here but ended up going with “Mr. Crow” instead. But, dammit, I can do both! So, HERE is a bonus reblog link for you, if you’re so inclined. Man, I’m SUCH a rule breaker!)