I found this lovely arrangement outside El Jardin restaurant in the Ajijic plaza, where we had our writers retreat.
See Cee’s gorgeous lantana HERE.
I found this lovely arrangement outside El Jardin restaurant in the Ajijic plaza, where we had our writers retreat.
See Cee’s gorgeous lantana HERE.
Who Knew?
When new was new, I was crazy about it. A new friend, new dress, new favorite food. But what I liked best was new places. I yearned to travel, even if it was just to the next town. Strangely enough, as tiny as the towns were in my part of South Dakota, people from neighboring towns did not mix. We went rollerskating in Draper, 7 miles away, but when our eyes chanced to stray to Draper boys, we were taken aside by several of the “popular” Draper girls–the cheerleaders, in fact, and told to stay away from their boys. This really happened. We played their school in sports, went rollerskating every Sunday in their school gym, even went to movies in their tiny theater, but we did not mix. When we tried, we’d been warned.
I think I visited Presho, Vivian and Kennebec–all 20 to 40 miles away–no more than once in the 18 years I lived in Murdo, population 700. White River, 38 miles away, we more regularly visited since they had shows on Mondays as well as weekends, and the movies were just ten cents, whereas ours cost twenty-five cents! But, never did we ever socialize with White River girls. The boys, however, were a different matter.
The first boy I ever kissed was from White River, and we went steady for two years. I think I’ve told the story of that first kiss in another blog posting. Suffice it to say that after putting it off until age 16, it was about time. And, it worked. I was literally dizzy and he had to hold me up for a minute afterwards. He had opened my car door, helped me out, then folded me in his arms and kissed me. I was so discombobulated that instead of walking to my own car, I opened the back door of his car and started to get into the back seat. Not for the reasons you might think. My best friend and a boy who (as I recall) later turned to cattle rustling were already in the back seat. I just did so in utter confusion. And no, I had never had a drink in my life at the time.
At any rate, this story has veered off in a direction unintended, so just suffice it to say that after that, life continued to present new after new and I accepted most of them. I traveled widely, loved a few loves, pursued a few careers and wound up in Mexico. Now, at age 70, I suddenly find that new isn’t as necessary to me. The older I get, the more I realize that everything is everywhere. You just have to look for it closely.
No longer is it necessary for me to travel to far-off third world countries. It is exciting to take the same walk on the same beach day after day since the sea presents new treasures each day. I love getting up each morning and writing first thing, having Pepe come each Wednesday to give me a 1 1/2 hour massage after which I plop into the hot tub. I love spending hours at my desk and sometimes hate having to leave home even for activities I have enjoyed in the past.
The point is, that the older I get, the more I want to spend all my time doing what I love most. Writing. Art. The fact that each endeavor creates a new piece is getting to be enough “new.”
This is a rewrite of an essay I wrote so long ago that I only had one viewer. If it was you, you must be one of my first followers! The prompt today is suddenly.
Night Journeys
All night long I follow scripts written by some hand
perhaps belonging to a self that consciousness has banned.
Fresh from dreams, I feel released from tasks committed to,
and then remember other jobs that I’m obliged to do.
Who knows if dreams are showing us those things we could have done—
those things we have forgotten with the dawning of the sun.
If only I remembered that world that fades away,
perhaps I’d face a very different sort of day.
Instead, I slip into the role my life has led me to,
like forcing naked feet into a more confining shoe.
And I wonder if the dreams I dream in dreams might reveal more
of potential lives where I live closer to my core.
Perhaps these stories I concoct, labeling them as lore,
are simply other lives I live on this lower floor
I descend to in my dreams, where I go to ponder
all those other me’s whose gifts I might have chosen to squander.
Could it be in death that I am freed to find a goal
in the bargain basement of the building of my soul—
to find another path where I may once more start a quest
towards a self just one step closer to my very best?
This is a rewrite of a poem written 3.5 years ago. The prompt today is wonder.
Stubborn as a . . . .
I must admit I’m stubborn, argumentative and such.
All these adverse qualities have me in their clutch.
But my mother’s from Missouri and my dad’s family is Dutch,
so they’re the ones to blame for it, thank you very much!
If you call it tenacity it ends up sounding better.
I go from being mulish to being a go-getter,
and my stubborn tendencies cease to be a fetter.
They serve me as an asset instead of as a debtor.
As dogged as a pit bull, determined as a cat.
A bull can be most bullish, you can’t argue much with that.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink,
and nothing’s stubborn as a pig, no matter what you think.
So if you say I’m mulish, it’s neither here nor there.
Stubborn is one quality that’s not so very rare.
And when you point a finger and say I’m being rancorous,
the animal you’re channeling might be just as cantankerous!
I’ve been at a writer’s conference for past two days–today from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. so no new poems.. Here’s a rerun that meets the prompt..
The prompt is uncompromising.


Donald’s World
It seems reality’s been hacked.
The dice are loaded. Cards are stacked.
Truth is no longer so exact.
Actuality’s been cracked
and reason pilloried and racked.
Verisimilitude is yacked
and common sense has long been sacked,
along with logic, reason, tact.
So what’s been rumored, gossiped, quacked
is now more true than proven fact!
The prompt word today is fact.
Fruitless
I’m a branch of the family wild and free.
My branches are wide but there’s no fruit on me.
My roots go down deeply. They’re seeking a place
to spread underground while leaving a trace
of what is below by what’s stretched to the skies.
Each leaf is a word that lives and then dries,
pressed onto paper, preserved and collected—
read if I’m lucky, pondered and dissected.
I’ve spawned no additions to the family tree.
Only my words will live after me.
The prompt today is branch.
Every situation, every human relationship contains a number of possibilities. No person could guess them all. When we are too hasty in our judgements and our reactions, we cut ourselves off from all of those potential realities.
Your face a closed bud
hiding what might have flowered
had I been your sun.
For dVerse Poets haibun challenge.
Linda in a moment of reflection jdb photo 2018
A few weeks ago, I published a link to Linda Crosfield’s poem about ten ways she would prefer NOT to die. I requested that she write one about ten ways she would prefer to die. Here is her answer to that challenge, along with some photos and ruminations about this year in La Manzanilla:
http://purplemountainpoems.blogspot.mx/2018/03/ruminations-about-my-winter-in-mexico.html