“Did you know that the parts of letters all have names — including spines, shoulders, hairlines, ears, arms, legs, tails, and crotches?” (FromThe Complete Manual of Typography, A Guide to Setting Perfect Type,” by James Felici.) Thanks to Elizabeth Boquet for this information, which prompted this poem:
Body of Love
Stiff spine
of its beginning,
the bare shoulders
of its attraction.
I trace the hairlines
of your thoughts,
whisper love poems
into your ears.
Imagine you
wrapped around me:
arms, legs—
that animal remembrance
of primordial tails.
This is the womb of poetry,
giving birth to words.
I offer you a bouquet of them .
–Judy Dykstra-Brown
On the Edge
One on my lap and one by my side,
Queen-sized or king-sized, no matter how wide,
I’m always pushed out to the edge of the bed.
though I’d rather be in the middle, instead.
The tinier dog snuggles close as she’s able,
leaving me hanging out touching the table,
while the little-bit-larger dog curls on my lap
and no matter how much I wiggle or tap,
she will not budge to allow me to shift.
I know she considers her presence a gift.
One burrows closer under my arm,
as though by her presence she’s warding off harm,
but it makes typing hard with my arm in the air,
lest I disturb one of this bed-hogging pair.
Not fiction!!!!!! 5 a.m., weighted down and on the edge!!!!!
Sculpted
These lines upon my face are ripple marks that represent
all of my life’s ebb and flow, those tides that life has sent.
Calligraphy defining those advantages provided
along with life’s misfortunes that somehow I abided.
Life gives and takes away, sometimes in equal measure—
pain spicing our life as surely as the pleasure—
smile lines as well as creases left by frowns.
Surely, there’s no shortage of life’s ups and downs.
It is the hand of nature sculpting animal and flower,
altering and remolding hour after hour.
From dinosaur to newborn babe—fish and bird and tree,
there is no end to our world’s originality.
Time is the finest sculptor of everything we see.
It is the very master of creativity.
Animal, vegetable, mineral—no two things quite the same.
Constant alteration is evolution’s game.
Prompt words today are ripple marks, represent, spice, definition, shortage and advantage.
For Cee’s FOTD
This is one of three guitars I decorated for the “Guitar Gallery” in Ajijic. It was covered in mirrors and silver ornamentation. It was purchased by a gallery in Montana. If you ever see it, please let me know where its new home is.
If Only I Could Play Guitar
At times when now I only hum,
I’d pull out my guitar and strum;
and by the time that I’d be done,
completing my last pluck and run,
perhaps whoever sees and hears
would be reduced to sobs and tears
by every perfect tone and note,
the sentiments that I emote,
and tender lyrics that they knew
because of course I wrote them, too.
But I would be so humble still,
(my hubris would be less than nil)
that when they laud me at the Grammys,
I’ll be home curled up in my jammies—
still unaffected by my fame,
astonished at my new acclaim!
And when Bob Dylan asks me if
I’d like to come and share a riff,
of course I will not turn him down.
In spite of all my new renown,
I’ll take the time to show him some
new ways I’ve found to pick and strum.
Mick Jagger would hang out with me
(and Leo Kottke, probably.)
We’d get together to talk and jam.
The whole world would know who I am!
My fame would spread to presidents
and queens and Knob Hill residents.
I’d be so busy that I fear
my writing would fall in arrears.
I might forget to feed my dog,
forsake my friends, neglect my blog.
So all things taken to account,
as negatives begin to mount,
and though I know that I’d go far
should I decide to play guitar,
I’ve penned a note unto myself,
“Put that guitar back on the shelf!!!”
The dVerse Poets prompt is to write a poem about music. I admit that this is actually a poem I wrote nine years ago so I am guessing few who now read my blog have seen it before.
To read more poems on this subject go HERE.
Click on photos to enlarge.
For Cee’s CFFC:Wheels
Man Vs. Machine
It is expedient that we convene
to discuss this new machine.
With teamwork, could we not achieve
all our higher-ups believe
needs to be done by this contraption
that according to its caption
can do the work of many men,
perhaps, it says, the work of ten?
Farewell to manpower, hello panic.
Made obsolete by things mechanic!
While ensconced in our cocoons,
it seems that corporate buffoons
have been brisk to seal our fate
and, alas, we’ve learned too late
that man by man, we’ll be ejected
by this means today detected.
And this is why I’m doubly keen
on dealing with this damn machine,
for men have brains but robots don’t.
If we retaliate, it won’t,
I think that we should make the hit
and simply throw a wrench in it!
Thereby persuading all our bosses
of better ways to stem their losses.
Word prompts today are cocoon, brisk, teamwork, expedient, discuss and farewell.
Bucket Listless
Before I have to face the heavenly ordeal—
(perhaps discovering that what I’ve scoffed at is for real.)
Before I kick the bucket, and while I’m still alive,
I’ve been told I have to choose a thing or five
and label them my “bucket list,” a practice I abhor,
(and even if I did, I can only think of four
things that might elate me as I shuffle toward the door.)
If I had the energy, I’d surely take to wing
and fly to foreign spaces to see everything
I didn’t see the first time, when I was in my youth
and as short of brains as I was short of tooth.
Something about youth draws fortune to our side,
and when you bring up adventure, I think of ones I tried
and shake my head in wonder, surprised that no one died.
I’d like to go to Ireland or on a last safari,
or maybe back to India to replace the sari
I buried my dear cat in because he loved it so,
yet I fear my energy is at an all-time low,
so I will spend my dotage sitting in my chair,
thinking of adventures that I do not dare
pursuing, for I find I dread their wear and tear!!!
Prompts today are: bucket list, elated, heavenly, ordeal, alive and wings.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 