For Cee’s Flower Prompt. See her stunning day’s flower HERE.
Birds of a Feather
Tossed about in the storm—the tidepools and the heather.
Cast adrift in the air like a tattered feather.
Blown wherever fate decrees, determined by the weather.
One surrenders all control when they are without tether.
Blown up to the highest points, then dropped to the nether.
Never knowing what comes next. Never knowing whether
somewhere there’s another soul, skin weathered into leather
to furnish some protection once we have flocked together.
The prompt today is tether.
(P)luck
Those who count on karma to bring about their luck
might do better to depend on industry and pluck.
Carry your ambition ready in its holster,
for things like synchronicity are only meant to bolster.
Get an education, in school and in life.
Knowing what you’re doing can alleviate much strife.
Exercise due caution, but do not let fear stop you.
What you’re meant to stand on is not meant to top you.
Watch out for the blind curves and watch out for loose gravel
as you take the wheel to drive on roads you want to travel.
The prompt today is “pluck.”
I’m also using this for Cee’s https://ceenphotography.com/cees-challenges/cees-which-way-challenge/
When the candle in the middle of my birthday donut was lit, it lit seven more candles which opened into this lotus flower and played “Happy Birthday to You” over and over until the copper wire was cut. It was a gift from my friend Jane who had visited from the states a few months before but who couldn’t be here for my birthday. Now how’s that for a flower?????
(Click on photos to enlarge.)
For Cee’s Flower Prompt.
Aha, it has arrived—my seventieth birthday. Pictured is part of the detritus of a party that will not happen. A few days ago, I called off the 70’s Fondue Extravaganza Slumber Party and Games Night that I had planned. At that time, I was so sick with some mysterious intestinal and stomach disorder and I didn’t have the energy to do the last minute preparations—plus I feared I’d still be ill and have to call it off at the last minute. In addition, Yolanda was with her husband in the hospital and I didn’t have her to fall back on as usual. At any rate, I’m feeling better today and so I’m meeting a few friends for an impromptu comida at a restaurant and chocolate fondue at Blue’s house later, so there will be some celebrating done. This morning brings the welcome messages from friends on Facebook and I really do appreciate them, but as usual, they, combined with the daily prompt, have brought me to reflection.
I hope no one is offended by the below poem. It is meant in no way to disparage the very welcome communication with old friends that such a day brings. On the other hand, I can’t help but reflect on how our world changes and changes and how the cyber networks have not only brought us closer together but made it easier to drift farther apart. I am as guilty if not guiltier of this than anyone else I know. This is not an indictment, but rather a pondering over where we’ve been, where we are and where we are going—the sort of pondering one does at the age of 70, and if one is a writer or artist, probably at a much earlier age as well:
Facing up to Facebook
Facebook quips and tweets with hashes
have replaced the dot dot dashes
of telegrams we used to send
to functions we could not attend:
birthdays and other days once meant
to celebrate with an event.
But now we sit in different places
pretending we’re exchanging faces
when in fact, for many years
our facial contact’s been in arrears.
They might have better renamed “Facebook”
“Those Who Have Vanished Without a Tracebook.”
It does not bring us face-to-face.
That is simply not the case.
Rather, it keeps us more alone
than even talking on the phone.
Old friend, it’s good to hear from you.
I know, there’s nothing more to do.
I’m just as guilty of it as you.
It’s what the whole world’s come to do.
We’ve simply moved too far apart
except in memory and heart.
It’s the new age’s way of seeing—
avoiding closer you and meing.
The prompt today was dash.
Not a flower, but rather a leaf that fell from a branch of a tall tree I didn’t even know was in my front garden. It is so obscured by the ferns and hibiscus and palms that I’ve never paid attention to it. I couldn’t resist showing you this “found” sculpture. Trying to figure how it could have happened. The leaf that flew the coop, having released its hold on the branch, must be really brittle and have fallen precisely on the sharp points of the fern leaf bundle that hadn’t spread out yet. Love these chance beauties of nature.
This is for Cee’s Flower Prompt. You have to see her incredible photo of a rose Here.
Kitten Afternoon
They tumble off the bed and land on padded feet,
light as feathers blown by wind, their movements sure and fleet.
They leap upon the pillows, sliding down the back
of the leather sofa, this little feline pack.
Off on single sorties, still they must collect
together in a pile to communally reflect
on the adventures of the day: the palm fronds they’ve combatted
and all the tiny spaces they have covertly catted.
They bravely face the secrets under the guest room bed,
approaching cowering crickets with fascinated dread.
They eye the inert bed cat with a careful glance,
then settle down around her, mirroring her stance.
Tumblers and explorers, their days are wildly varied––
sculptures to be batted at, business to be buried.
Laps to be climbed up on, computers to be checked.
Feathers to be batted at. Bird nests to be wrecked.
With their indulgent human approving all of it,
that nests are being shredded matters not a whit.
These kittens are her little bits of kinetic art,
infusing her still house with a spontaneous heart.
Those who say that kittens are a bother and a mess
could not begin to fathom, to comprehend or guess
how those subtle sounds—each skittering and scratching
heard from the next room is another mystery hatching.
Each tiny paw that walks across her unsuspecting chest
as she lies in bed is a most welcome guest,
messing up the covers of her unruffled day
with an invitation to leave her work and play.
Glamor Travel
My carry-on’s too heavy to lift above my seat;
so I had to put it under, now there’s no room for my feet.
I request some water (though I’ve been twice rebuffed,)
to take an antihistamine, for my eyes are puffed
from the perfume of my seatmate, which also made me cough.
So I’m already hurting long before lift off.
I’ve squeeze marks from the narrow seats, I’m shivering from the draft,
and when this ride is over, I must board another craft!
Two hours later, two states up, I face another battle
trying to find a decent airport meal here in Seattle.
On my muffuletta sandwich (priced $15.93),
I look in vain for olives, which there don’t seem to be.
My Tim’s potato chips are stale, the sodas are all flat.
The Wifi that they advertise does not know where I’m at.
Air travel’s an adventure but not the one I sought.
I forget this lesson once again, refusing to be taught.
One hour left ‘til I lift off to wing my way on east,
I buy a drink and steel myself to board the winged beast.
I hope this time my seatmate fits in her own seat
so I don’t have to deal again with the impossible feat
of leaning out into the aisle, avoiding every ass
of passengers and stewards that brush me as they pass.
I bitch, I whine, I grouse, I cry, complain and moan and sigh.
‘Til by now I’m sure you wonder why I even fly.
I must admit I’ve asked myself the same as I’ve been talking.
The only reason I have found is that it sure beats walking.
The prompt word was passenger.
