Category Archives: Uncategorized

Well-Timed Adoration

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Well-timed  Adoration

You’re such a marvelous beauty. I worship at your feet.
You’re the most gorgeous woman of any that I meet.
Every day I see you on my usual rounds
around this graceful city where beauty so abounds.
And now my lovely lady, would you find me rash
if I asked if you could spare a little cash?

 

Prompt words for today are rash, lady, worship and marvelous. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/rdp-friday-rash/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/04/26/fowc-with-fandango-lady/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/your-daily-word-prompt-worship-april-26-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/marvelous/

Tidelines

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Tidelines

The water laps from shore to shore,
From India to Ecuador,
bringing precious things and more—
dried starfish and an apple core,
a never-ending seashell store.

The water laps up ever higher.
The ocean wave will not expire. 
Tide on tide, it does not tire,
topples chair, douses campfire,
to the wind’s insistent choir,

The water laps around my feet
in the day’s insistent heat,
always destined to repeat,
to the moon’s consistent beat,
this constant rising from its seat.

The water laps against the dock.
Listen to its constant knock,
testing the seawall, block on block,
undiminished by the tock
of nature’s ever-ticking clock.

The water laps by halves and thirds
against the sides of ships and birds.
All its shores it scours, then girds,
undetained by  poets’ words.
To stop the sea? it is absurd!

 

For NaPoWriMo’s “repetition poem” prompt.

 

White Butterfly on Sky Flower

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The flower is a durante erecta or sky flower, and I want to thank this lovely white butterfly for making this photo! I am trying to crop according to Nancy’s rule of thirds, but there is a problem. What should be the focus of interest—the butterfly or the flower? Which photo do you like best, top or bottom?

For Nancy Merrill’s Rule of Thirds prompt.

And for Cee’s FOTD.

Rainy Season: NaPoWriMo 2019, Apr 25

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Rainy Season

When you walk into my photograph
in your new yellow raincoat,
a stalk of grain is in your hand
and you are plucking at it, shredding it.

I have set the tripod,
pinned the curtain back,
and I am waiting for the turn of light.

Chaff blows in the rain behind your shoulders.
In the wet street I can see you twice.
Steam from the straw pile down the street,
yellow blossoms of the spirea bush—

and still
I do not close the shutter,
for I am waiting for the turn of light.

You woke earlier than usual today,
craving fresh yogurt.
A waxed street that your footsteps
and the wheels of bicycles had marked

did not prompt me
to close the shutter,
for I was waiting for the turn of light.

When you return three hours  later,
your pockets  filled with fresh strawberries,
as though this is the reason
for which you left,

your shadow passes
across my photograph
as I stand waiting for the turn of light.

 


For the NaPoWriMo poem we are to write a poem that:
     Is specific to a season
Uses imagery that relates to all five senses (sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell)
Includes a rhetorical question, (like Keats’ “where are the songs of spring?”)

Last Little Piggy Goes To Market

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Last Little Piggy Goes To Market

I am the littlest piggy, and when I commenced to roam,
why did I cry “Wee wee wee” all the long way home?
My sibling went to market and I followed along.
The path was rough and winding–as steep as it was long.

My little legs were tired, yet I followed close behind––
I wondered if he knew that I was following if he’d mind.
My family never let me go hardly anywhere,
so market piqued my interest. I wondered what was there.

I asked my other siblings if they wouldn’t like to try it,
but one was into his roast beef, the other on a diet.
She said she would be tempted by the pastries and the candy.
This was enough to convince me this market was a dandy.

When we crested the final hill and rounded the last bend,
the market spread out for so far, I couldn’t see its end.
Booth after booth was set up to sell its chosen fare.
My head swung fast from side to side to see all that was there.

Buttons, bolsters, bumbershoots and books with songs or riddles.
Little dainty donuts with whipped cream in their middles.
Tinkertoys and rubber balls and cricket bats and kites.
My eyes could not keep up with all these delicious sights.

I lost sight of my brother, but I didn’t care.
I was too busy ogling all this varied fare.
My tummy started rumbling. Ice cream, cakes and pies.
I wished that I could put my mouth where I had put my eyes.

But then I stopped to look at a very curious rig
and a big sign that said “Barbecue—what? Barbecue pig????
Folks stood around with sandwiches filled with dripping meat,
and then I saw another sign that said “Pickled Pig’s Feet!!!”

My pigs’ feet took me out of there as fast as I could joggle.
I didn’t stop for donuts. I didn’t stop to ogle.
I scurried for my own safe yard, squealing “Wee, wee, wee!”
Now when I seek adventure, home is enough for me!!!

 

For the latest dVerse Poetics prompt: A different take on myths or legends.

Hibiscus: Flower of the Day, Apr 24, 2019

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IMG_1559This little hibiscus bush right next to my kitchen door is very faithful in providing a bloom at a time. Nice to be greeted to this surprise most days when I go out to feed the cats. It is a Spanish Dancer. Love the bloom and love the name.

For Cee’s FOTD

Bad Choices Well Remembered

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Bad Choices Well Remembered

Memories grate against my mind like chalk against the board.
I simply can’t forget them, however much abhorred.
When I try to go sleep, at breakfast or at tea,
my reflections interrupt the most polite company.
With my present decisions, I’m doing rather fine, 
yet my past could have been  better. Why didn’t I decline?
On my mind’s conveyor belt, regrets move down the line,
but though I keep it oiled, they emit a nagging whine.
Would have, could have, should have–—they wheedle with such zest
I cannot still the murmurings of each unwelcome guest.
We’re meant to leave the past behind. It’s how all nature planned it,
but contrary to nature, my memory hasn’t banned it!

 

Yay! Forgottenman has written a post for two days in a row.  Please see his memories of watermelon HERE. and leave him a comment so he knows you care.

 

Prompt words today are omit, tea, oil and chalk. Here are the links:
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/04/23/your-daily-word-prompt-omit-april-23-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/04/23/tea/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/04/23/fowc-with-fandango-oil/
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/04/23/rdp-tuesday-chalk/

Jenny’s Stroll

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Kid Again: NaPoWriMo 2019, Apr 22, 2019

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There are more forms of art in the world than most people can list. Cooking may be an art in the right hands, or riding a horse or setting a table. Or flying a kite.

Kid Again.

From the still air near the beach,
it seems a miracle
that above us there are currents
strong enough to sail a kite.

The long-handled spool spins
between your loose-curled palms,
yet the kite curls lower
until you remember how
to reel it in a bit
and run, and let it go.

As you in the heat,
under Leon Redbone hat,
learn the tricks again
you haven’t needed since you were a kid,
you recognize, through some
adult amnesia,
the tug of the string
against your hands––that tactile memory––
and steer the beautiful sperm-shaped kite
with the longest tail
higher.

Yours unique above the two blue others.
Yours lotus-patterned with a spiraled tail
of purple, orange and yellow.

All afternoon, the seagulls and the pigeons
curve between the obstacles
of string and tail
as you rock your hand
to teach this drifter
how to execute a figure eight,
until a cooler wind,
blowing your shirt-back dry,
calls your attention
to the sunset,
and you start to reel your new toy in.

Still fighting that compulsion 
to let it go again
to the end of the string,
you dance the kite
on ever-shorter tether
as you take it for a walk
along the footpath
to the car,
remembering
by some association,
watermelon.

 

After Forgottenman read this poem, he told me a charming story about the last time he flew a kite. For the first time in history, when I said he should write a blog post on it, he actually did!!  You can find it HERE.

The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem about another art form.

In Your Easter Bonnet: FOTD Apr 22, 2019

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It was Easter and Vino Blanco decided to wear her Easter hat, covered with flowers, just like all the other ladies who came to Yves for Easter comida.

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Her son, Martini, however, had hung up his hat before I could get a shot of him.  I should have taken my photos earlier!

Here is their competition: (click on photos to enlarge.)

At the last minute, it was suggested we wear hats. Everyone but Sandy and I complied. I’d already done my hat thing for the year! Wanna see it again? Go HERE.

 

For Cee’s FOTD