Midnight Fantasy
Filtered clouds like plumes of smoke above us gently flow
while threads of mosses weave a layered fabric far below––
filling forest cracks with ruffled tufts of green
that cushion midnight footsteps through this magic scene.
Prompt words for The Sunday Whirl are: plumes tufts mosses fantasy fabric filtering threads forest cracks layer ruffle flow. (Image created with AI)
photo downloaded from internet
Busted
Where once I was secure on top,
there’s now a tendency to plop.
So when I dance and when I bop,
unless I want to swing and flop,
I need to engineer a stop–
a sort of midriff traffic cop.
A reblog from this date (Sep 6) 2016
For Fibbing Friday, Sept 4, 2026 the assignment is:
1. Battlecruiser – Someone addicted to viewing divorce courts
2. Bread and cheese – A deconstructed grilled sandwich.
3. Cows and kisses – A cowboy’s check list for the weekend
4. Dicky dirt – transcripts of Nixon’s impeachment
5. Lady Godiva – The wife of a noble snorkeler
6. Mork and Mindy – Mispronunciation of of a chop and a popular dance of the 30’s and 40’s
7. Daisy roots – Li’l Abner’s wife’s scalp when she didn’t have time to her monthly touchup.
8. Dustbin lid – A popular hat style in the Dirty Thirties
9. Peckham Rye – to attack one’s sandwich with small appetite
10. Ruby Murray – Bill, of Groundhog Day and Ghostbusters, when embarrassed.
Here is the link to the prompt: https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/2026/09/04/fibbing-friday-4th-september-2026/
Here is my house guest Julie and friends pulling up a seat at a friend’s party
Here are my photos. Click on photos to enlarge and move on to next photo. Anxious to see yours!
The wedding was simple, but wonderful with surprise guests showing up from every stage of my life: childhood, college, Australia, my former students from Wyoming, poet friends, friends from work, all my family from three different states, Bob’s kids and friends and even one lady I’d never met who flew to California from Wyoming because she thought it sounded like fun. Ha. I’d sent out the invitations as an announcement, but everyone came. Guess they had decided this was never going to happen and they had to see the evidence for themselves.
Her past and present
wed as she was wed to him
as old loves met new.
We were to write a Wedding Habun for dVerse Poets
Hey, this is Adam Schiff.
Investigators in my office uncovered the contracts behind the banners of Donald Trump’s face now hanging on federal buildings across Washington — the largest of them eight stories tall at the Department of Health and Human Services, with “America First” printed beside it:
MS NOW: Adam Schiff sheds new light on Trump’s taxpayer-financed banners in D.C.
The American people paid for every inch of it, and we have the receipts. $114,000 from the FAA. $39,000 from Interior. A third check from the Labor Department.
The list goes on and on.
Congress long ago outlawed spending taxpayer dollars on propaganda and self-aggrandizement, and an eight-story-high Donald Trump head certainly qualifies.
Because I spent years as a federal prosecutor, and I know a pattern of intent when I see one. In every country where democracy gave way to one man, the faces went up on the government buildings first. Not as decoration, and not even as vanity — but to teach the people who paid for those buildings a simple lesson: all of this belongs to him now.
And yet not one of those buildings belongs to Donald Trump. They belong to the American people, to the taxpayers who funded them. We were never asked, and we do not have to accept it.
Moonshadows
The moon casts silver shadows across my pebbled way.
Stones echoing the velvet recesses where they lay.
My heart follows no compass as it weaves its random path.
No drone marks its progress or charts its vagrant math.
A clipped leaf dries upon my chest where it has been thrust
and slowly, in the evening wind, turns from green to rust.
For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 772 the prompt words are:
velvet compass echo random rust silver shadow pebble stone drone clip dry
jdbphoto
Vice Detection
Don’t you have to love the fellow
with ice cream on his diet Jell-O?
And the friend with heart of gold
who likes her painkiller freshly rolled,
or that occasional slip of tongue
that tells us how her husband’s hung?
This little “fuck,” that little “damn,”
the door that’s pulled closed with a slam––
the flaw that nearly escapes detection
that proves that no one is perfection?
The truth is, that though friends revere us,
faults are what really endear us.
Although piety is nice,
I’ll take my goodness spiced with vice!
