Absolutely sick over this. Will it never stop?
Trump Admin. Opens Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to Drilling
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Uprooted
Uprooted
“Can you get even closer to the tree?” he said—so I went inches from the trunk of the tallest of the trees, crowding the fern that reached tentative tentacles from the tree’s shade into a ray of sun that escaped the fast-collecting clouds. “I’ll protect you,” he had said years ago, when we declared our union. But now, in this time of the approaching storm, I wondered about both tree and one who over the years had been in turn protector and threat. In times of gentle rain, a shield. In times more volatile, that sudden bolt that left bruised places easily hidden. I saw the tree’s scar, devoid of bark, burned at the edges––that place now easily overlooked in the shadows. And I moved away from the tree, walking with new confidence to the car. Uprooted, finally, after so many years.
Italicized line is from Sharon Olds’ poem, “Pine Tree Ode.” For the dVerse Poets Pub prompt–to develop a prose piece of 144 words making use of a line from another poet’s poem about a tree. Go HERE to read what other writers did with this prompt or to participate yourself.
Hibiscus: FOTD, Sept 17, 2019
Hibiscus: FOTD, Sep 16, 2019
For Cee’s FOTD prompt.
Storage
Storage
I’m not your typical hoarder. I don’t save balls of string.
Five foot stacks of newspapers really aren’t my thing.
Boxes of garage sale items do not line my halls.
Jumbles of castoff treasures do not obscure my walls.
My collection is more upbeat and easier to store.
I have thousands of them and room for plenty more.
And lest you think my hoarding is of objects more absurd,
I’ll tell you my obsession is simply for the “word.”
Those who have collected them all throughout the ages
are lexicographers and scribes, poets, writers, sages.
Sometimes they swirl around my head and leave it in a fog,
so when I run out of room, I store them in this blog.
Words like ships floating around, looking for a moorage—
I simply help them out by arranging for their storage.
Got a bit mixed up with my prompts today and used two from yesterday, so here is another poem with additional prompts from today: jumble and upbeat.
Unreplicated
Unreplicated
I’ll have no descendants. My line ends up in me.
I’ll add no other branches to my family tree.
Through hormone-driven years of youth, I kept myself intact.
Although I felt the urges, I never did the act.
Though I was fond of kissing, at further acts, I balked.
When I engaged in intercourse, I fear I merely talked.
I kept my panty hose in place—never unzipped my zipper.
I’d be no antecedent to any future nipper.
In the many years since then, I’ve had a love or two,
but as to procreation? My friends’ kids had to do.
I’m not averse to passion. In fact, I am no saint,
but when it comes to motherhood? Sorry, folks. I ain’t!!
Prompt words for the day are talk, antecedent and zipper.
(This poem is only partially autobiographical. I love kids and always thought I’d have a few, but the time or the potential father was never quite right, and when the right one came along, he’d already had ten kids, so it seems in this life, at least, I am the end of the line.)
Global Climate Strike
Please read and pass along this message about a Global Climate Strike on the 20th of September. Something has to be done!!!!
environmental acts rolled back
youths around the world respond…
Old Lovers
Old Lovers
We meet in the kitchen,
your face slightly blue
in the light from the refrigerator.
Left-over shepherd’s pie in one hand,
a half-gallon of Costco vanilla ice cream in the other,
you seem suspended in a middle land
between repletion and guilt.
Being here for the same purpose,
I offer absolution,
and we talk about the future,
sitting with forks and spoons aloft,
eating from the same bowl and carton.
It is part of our sensuality,
this culinary communication at 2 a.m.
Wishing to go deeper,
we seek out chocolate
in that place
where you have hidden it
for years––on top of the refrigerator.
Knowing all your secrets,
I am the one who retrieves it this time.
This is what might happen
if we were not divided by miles,
you in your country,
me in mine. As it is,
you feast on ribs from Dexter Barbecue,
I eat the ice cream with a single spoon—
these mid-night fantasies
reality enough for old lovers
building new communions.
Prompt words today are talk, middle, sensual, future and kitchen.
Lens Artist Photo Challenge 63: Magical
Purple moon
I’m not sure that this is the correct link, but if not, perhaps someone can direct it for me: https://lagottocattleya.wordpress.com/2019/09/14/lens-artists-photo-challenge-63-magical-my-magical-garden/
Fridge Front Challenge
We were asked to provide a shot of our fridge front. Here is is the front as well as the side of mine. Click on any photo to enlarge all.
For the Fridge Front Challenge! Come play along.
