“Dappled” for dVerse Poets

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Henri Rousseau, La Promenade dans la Foret (The Walk in the Forest) (c. 1886), oil on canvas

Dappled

Shadows of leaves stipple the ground
in swirling patterns, all around,
like footsteps left by tiny feet
dancing to the wind’s wild beat.
They lessen as the sun goes down
and the forest floor turns brown.

The sunlight that all day has made
each leaf stand out as dappled shade
sinks into some other sky,
but soon enough, the moon comes by
with shadows of its own to cast.
With wind died down, their patterns last,
sure and steady, through the night,
each ringed by the moon’s soft light.

Staunch resident of the heavens, the moon—
your constancy our guide and boon—
the pathway that your light lays down
brings my lover from the town
to stand beneath my bedroom pane,
handsome, gentle and urbane,
to nightly plead my hand and troth.
Soft call of bird and wing of moth
likewise beat against the glass,
supporting what will come to pass.

Our passion, soon to come to light,
was birthed in shadows of the night
whereas the light that without fail
will fall upon my wedding veil
will be the dappled light of sun,
revealing what the moon has won.

For dVerse Poets

 

 

“Reminder” for RDP

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Reminder

This morning, upon awakening,
I kissed my pillow and imagined it was you.
There was no sadness in the act.
It was a simple act of adulation.

If there had been a real person here,
I would wish that it were you,
but I’m content here in my solitude—
writing tributes to past lovers—

a bit puffier (me, not you)
than even that last time we met.
When I waken, joints are stiffer,
the cat more crabby in demands for food.

I wouldn’t say time marches on.
It turns its pages, shifts its screens.
The world, more innovative since the Internet,
spins us a new tale second by second.

Vicariously, we speed through life.
Other people’s lives become our own.
We feed ourselves and perform daily functions,
our minds in one world and our bodies in another.

In that manner,
one thing substitutes for the other.
Over and over, like shuffled cards.
This reality and that one.

Upon awakening, I kiss my pillow—
not a conscious act. Not one I will repeat.
A simpler act and one unplanned
to remind myself, perhaps, what’s in my heart.

For Ragtag Daily Prompt, Wednesday, the prompt is “Puffy.”

Pairs of Colors for CFFC

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Loved this little toad on my wall..or is it a frog? It has warts so toad won out.
Cocoon attached to pot.

For the Pairs of Colors CFFC prompt, we were asked to post photos that combined two of the following colors: red, yellow, green, blue, brown, black, orange and purple. Here are mine. Click on photos to enlarge.

 

 

“Stirring the Pot” for FOWC

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Stirring the Pot

Chunks and grains swirl round and round. They form a muddy mass.
I keep my paddle churning them as I turn on the gas.
As all the chunks and  bits melt down, the volume now decreases.
I watch the whole mess carefully. My vigilance increases.
I see it all congealing—an oily inky sludge
that after lengthy stirring finally turns to fudge!
This horrid, bubbling, lumpy goo that appeared so pernicious,
in the end turns into something creamy, rich, delicious.

For FOWC the prompt is “Decrease.”

Baby’s First Soda Pop for “Lets Hit Rewind” for July 28.

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Couldn’t resist rerunning this July 28, 2016 blog for the Rewind prompt:

Version 2

jdbphoto


Baby’s First Soda Pop

When finally a kid is poppable,
once the bottle is untoppable,
the overflow may be unstoppable.
It’s fortunate the floor is moppable!

Care-less for dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge

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Care-less

Lately I don’t give a thought to what I’m going to wear,
and I’ve let my hair grow down to my derriere.
No longer do the men I meet ever stop to stare,
but it doesn’t bother me. I simply do not care.


The dVerse Poets Quadrille prompt today is “Care.” To see other responses to the prompt, go HERE. Image created with AI.

“Panic” for Take A Look Back.

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The prompt for “Take a Look Bacj” is to look back at what I published on this day, July 27, on an earlier year in my blog. I chose this poem published in 2016:. True now as then.

1958

Panic!!!

When I was younger and a rover,
the things I should have panicked over
never seemed to stick to me.
I guess that’s part of being free.

But now with bigger guns and Isis,
we all feel continual crisis.
Though it’s true, I must confess,
I overlook the world’s grand mess

and concentrate on creaking knees
and where I left my ring of  keys.
As I get older, I would guess,
I’ll feel more panic over less.

Reflections, for Terri’s Sunday Stills

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Screenshot

 

 

 

 

Click on photos to enlarge

For Terri’s Sunday Stills prompt, the theme is “Reflections.”

“Successful Crossing” For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 767

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Successful Crossing

I crossed the wilds, my staff in hand,
the first to conquerl this wild land.
My hood in place to combat the sun,
I would not stop until I’d done
the task I’d set to cross this space
that had been the burial place
of so many, from first to last,
who had found their lot was cast
as they had tried, only to find
the task to be a hopeless grind:
trails split by crevasses deep and wide,
cliff ledges with no room to slide
back to cliff, from right to left
across the mountain’s mighty cleft.
As said before, so many failed––
died in the act, or merely bailed.
Only I succeeded, by machination
to cross in my imagination.

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 767 the prompt words are: wild cross left staff last split burial grind space land room hood

The Demise of Scrub Daddy, for “Blast from the Blog.”

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For the “Blast from the Blog”  prompt, I am rerunning this post from today’s date (July 25) ten years ago.  It is connected to two other blogs that tell the entire story. And if you’re wondering, after ten years, in spite of what seems to be true at the end of this segment, I’m still addicted to Scrub Daddy.  You might also want to read the  comments as the saga continues there.

The Demise of Scrub Daddy

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On February 20 of this year, I posted an entry about the Scrub Daddy Sponge my sister put in my Xmas stocking.

(Click first photo and arrows to enlarge and see commentary under each photo, then click on X at upper left to return and read the poem.)  Note:  Wordpress seems to be having some problems. If the process just suggested doesn’t work, hovering over each photo will let you see the captions.)

This is what Scrub Daddy looked like in his prime.
He fit perfectly into my Axion container.
Five weeks later, however, this is what Scrub Daddy looks like:

The Demise of Scrub Daddy

Scrub Daddy, Scrub Daddy, where you gone?
There in pieces, so limp and wan,
you hardly seem the selfsame sponge
meant to scour and expunge
clinging morsels of cooked-on rice
when I swipe once and maybe twice.

Yet after only thirty days,
I must amend my former praise,
for after one-too-many rubbings,
you haven’t very many scrubbings
left in you. You’ve lost your heart,
unstiffed your starch, fallen apart!

Scrub Daddy, Scrub Daddy, I won’t buy
another cut-out scrub sponge guy.
I’ll make do with a simple square
that’s lacking mouth and eyes and hair.
Though you’d win any cuteness casting,
I’ll choose a sponge that’s longer lasting!


Now, if you want to know the full story of Scrub Daddy, read my earlier posting about him Here.

And, if you want to know the final outcome of this story, read this:

https://judydykstrabrown.com/2016/06/14/scrub-daddy-goes-on-fiesta/

and, since this post follows in the footsteps of an earlier one, I’m posting it in Footsteps as well.