Category Archives: Uncategorized

Shimmering Locks

I found this poem written a year and a half ago that perfectly reflects today’s prompt word  shimmer. Since I had totally forgotten it, you probably have, too, so please read below:

lifelessons's avatarlifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown

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Locks

Locked up in my bedchamber. More than I can bear.
The beauty of my countenance, the shimmer of my hair
do me no good for no prince charming comes to find me here.
I will go unmarried––for my whole life, I fear.

My father thinks he honors me. I am his special treasure.
He worries not about my fate.  He thinks not of my pleasure.
I am but one more lovely thing he keeps for his collection––
admired for my golden locks, my flawless pale complexion.

I care not for beauty.  I care not for my tresses.
I do not treasure jewels or slippers or my ornate dresses.
A husband and a family are all that I desire.
A simple life’s the sort of life that I most admire.

From my window I look out upon the broad King’s Highway.
All roads must converge here––every path and byway.
And so I see…

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Gerber Daisy 2: Flower of the Day, Aug 6, 2017

IMG_0035jdbphoto. Although it doesn’t look like it, this is a closeup of a real flower.

 

For Cee’s flower prompt.

Flowering Schefflera Tree: Flower of the Day, Aug 5, 2017

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I have been trying to discover the name of this flower for fifteen years.  They are on trees that flower so high above the ground that you can only see them from a distance.  Last year, I photographed a smaller variety next to the car wash in Ajijic.  When I photographed this one at the Nueva Posada two days ago, it was from very far away but decided to use it today anyway.  It was when I cropped it a bit that I suddenly remembered what the leaves remind me of.  Sure enough, I finally identified it as a variety of schefflera called the flowering schefflera or octopus tree!  Now if I can just remember it next time.  (Also known as the schefflera arbicola.)

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For Cee’s flower prompt.

Unscheduled Visitor

 

Unscheduled Visitor

I hear a rapid rapping and I’m wondering, “Who is it?”
It’s too early in the morning for a casual drop-in visit.
I’m still in my pajamas and the dogs and cats aren’t fed.
How can company be calling while I’m still here in bed?

The knocking is insistent but I have no way to spy
upon whatever passer-by refuses to pass by.
My intercom is broken, so I call out from the door,
“Who is it?” but it’s obvious they aren’t there anymore.

I wander back to bed again, feeling somewhat tense.
Only when I’m sleeping does the knocking recommence.
“Who is it?” I scream out again, accenting every vowel.
The dogs sense my frustration and they begin to howl.

My bedroom sliders are open, so my voice soars over the wall.
Any passerby could hear if they could hear at all.
But still nobody answers. This Saturday morning’s still.
There are no other noises up here on my hill.

No car horns and no dog barks. No children’s noisy play.
No birdcalls. No construction to mar this quiet day.
Except for my invectives as the rappings start again—
louder, oh much louder than they have ever been.

As I charge out of my front door, I grab for an umbrella—
in case I need a weapon to fight off some unknown fella
intent on ruining my day, but when I turn the key
and open wide my front wall gate, there’s no one there but me!

I roar in my frustration. The whole town must hear my wails.
I throw that damn umbrella. Over the wall it sails.
I stalk back to my room and pull the covers over my head,
praying for more silence, but what I get instead

is the steady rat-tat-tatting that now upon reflection
seems to emanate from a different direction.
I draw aside my bedroom drapes and wonder, “What the heck?”
sweeping my sight across my yard, I finally crane my neck

and see it far up in a palm—an industrious woodpecker
whose ruthless drilling is the thing that’s been my sleep-in wrecker!
I cannot throw a shoe at him for I can’t throw that far.
If I tried to knock a golf ball up, I’d be far over par.

At last I view with humor this ridiculous affair,
and so I pull on Levis and smooth my ruffled hair.
I shuffle off to feed the dogs, the kittens and the cat
and just accept as music this rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

 

The prompt today is casual.

Gerber Daisy: Flower of the Day, Aug 4, 2017

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See Cee’s gorgeous clematis here: https://ceenphotography.com/2017/08/03/short-break-and-flower-of-the-day-august-4-2017-clematis/

No Partner?

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The Dance

Cheek to cheek and toe to toe,
graceful dancers come and go
smoothly passing me while I 
sit motionless, with dancing eye.
Jealousy may rear its head
as I wish that it were me, instead—
held securely in my partner’s arms,
guided surely away from harms
of other dancers’ straying feet
or jutting elbows I might meet.

I might feel sorry, sitting there,
no arms around me—only air.
Then I remember in the past
dancing nights I thought would last.
How all those partners have stepped away—
even the ones I hoped would stay.

Life has a way of leaving us
like hopeful riders passed by the bus
as it soars away with no seat left
those left behind feeling bereft.
Then I look deeper and clearly see
one day that bus will stop for me.
Something heavy grows inside
where it’s not good for it to bide.
I scoot back my chair to shift that stone
as I get up and dance alone.

Steered through dangers into bliss,
barely meeting the floor’s long kiss,
I soar and bend and sway and glide,
giving way to what’s inside,
the music coming to live in me
setting all that’s in me free.
Stirring sadness at my core
and leaving it upon the floor
for other dancers to kick away
while only light parts choose to stay
within my heart as I dance on
from dark of night into the dawn.

 

The prompt today was partner. I have an early meeting today, so this is a rewrite of a poem written a few years ago.

Tuesdays of Texture 31 and WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: Textures

jdbphotos   Please click on one to enlarge all.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/textures/

https://narami.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/tuesdays-of-texture-week-31-of-2017/

Shooting Star: Flower of the Day: August 3, 2017

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Hard to tell if this star flower is about to burst or in the act of bursting.

For Cee’s Flower Prompt.

Morning Symphony


Sounds of Morning

The music I awaken to when I’m at the beach
is a symphony of sounds nearby and out of reach.
The gentle whirring of the fans beside me and above,
and sounds outside my kitchen door that I have grown to love:
the spread out carpet of the surf, the stirring of the dog—
as I lie here on the couch, sorting out my blog.

The day can’t really start for me until I’ve shed my words.
We cannot walk upon the beach to watch the soaring birds
and throw or chase the tennis ball as we do every day
until I shake the words out and put them all away.

The subtle tapping of the keys, the gas truck passing by
outside the bedroom window with its annoying cry
of “Ze-ta, Ze-ta, Ze-ta gassssss.”
(I cannot wait for it to pass!)
Then other traffic sounds fill in
to fill the space where it has been.

One room leaks in beach sounds to tell tale after tale
of needle fish and rooster fish and tuna, snapper, sail—
my porch like a receiver that gathers all these sounds
of nature and of passers-by with which this beach abounds.

Yet the bedroom window opens to a busy street.
I hear the passing traffic, the sound of passing feet.
Neighbor greeting neighbor and the gas truck’s bray—
all the usual street sounds of a noisy Mexican day.

The dog protests more earnestly. He’s ready for our walk.
He has no patience for this blog—its ponderings and talk.
So I save what I have written, content with what’s at hand
to wander off to other worlds of wind and surf and sand.

 

 

 

The prompt today was symphony. This is a rewrite of a poem published earlier.

Foggy Weather

 

Foggy Weather

For weeks I’ve been suspended in clouds and foggy weather.
Up here on the mountain, I can’t determine whether
there’s another world out there or if I am alone,
banished for a life of sins for which I must atone.
I don’t believe in Purgatory. Don’t believe in Hell
or other childhood stories that grownups chose to tell.
Yet something living in the mist has seeped out into me.
Suddenly I’m restless. I’m not content to be.
There’s something still left in the world although I don’t know what.
What I’ve thought of as security is suddenly a rut.
I haven’t lived my life out. There’s much that I have missed.
I’m needing much more laughter. I’m needing to be kissed.
As soon as this fog lifts away and full light reappears,
I’ll solve all my confusions. I’ll sweep away my fears.
The road will be much clearer when it isn’t half-obscured.
I’ll see the bait that life has set and let myself be lured.

The prompt today was foggy.