I took a block-long walk down my sister’s street in Peoria, Arizona, and this is what I saw: (Please click on photos to enlarge.)
For Cee’s FOTD
poem a
Dear Self: The Query
I’ve written all the words. That is the easy part.
But why can I not finish the projects that I start?
Four books that I have finished languish on the shelf.
I cannot follow through with them. I cannot help myself!
A letter to an agent, a query or request,
someone to pursue the task, perhaps, at my behest?
It just seems impossible to do what I must do.
I haven’t the ability to simply follow through.
I need a deus ex machina to simplify my task.
A simple intervention. Is it too much to ask?
Dear Self: The Reply
Jettison your worry. Throw away your fear.
Regain your former confidence. Shift to a higher gear.
Every rigorous journey requires a last step.
Why would you avoid it when you’ve done all the prep?
I think that fear of failure is your fatal flaw.
Those who seek lionization must face the lion’s maw.
Time’s persistent pendulum repeats its past percussions.
Those who overlook them will suffer repercussions.
“Done begins with do,” is the most memorable of morals.
You succeed by finishing, not resting on your laurels.
Ironically, “Done Begins with Do” was my class motto when I graduated from high school.
Prompts today are: confidence, jettison, memorable, percuss and repeat.
And also, the prompt for NaPoWriMo today was to write a letter and a reply. for the
Dilletante
Even though his art skills were little more than nascent,
he displayed an attitude disgustingly complacent.
He bragged about this vision and lauded his own craft—
Puffed up about his concepts that were little more than daft.
His style was so protean that it was nonexistent.
He was deaf to any critique and consistently resistant
to suggestions from instructors, resisting education
that might have been of aid in his artistic operation.
Thus, he developed habits that led, as you can see,
to work that is just noted for its mediocrity.
Prompt words for today are operation, complacent, habit, protean and craft.
This one I took just before leaving home 2 weeks ago. One week to go before I can check it out again.
For Cee’s FOTD
This is the prompt:
Click on the arrow on the album to hear the song.
“To Do” List for a New Roommate
*If you value this abode,
please plan to shoulder half the load
to keep it lovely, clean and neat.
This rule, I will not repeat.
*Underwear should not be seen
on chair or floor or in-between.
(To insure I’m a happy camper,
dirty clothes go in the hamper.)
*If, on occasion, you feel you might
have a lover spend the night,
lest my ire you might incite,
please have him leave by morning light.
*No mongrels, kittens, fish or birds
or other denizens of herds
may cross my doorway, now or ever.
In short, are pets allowed? No. Never!!!
*If personal details you recite,
please insure they are not trite,
for next to messiness and snoring,
I most dread roommates who are boring.
* Don’t steal my cookies or my chips.
My food should never pass your lips.
Don’t steal my leftover knishes,
and when you cook, do your own dishes.
*If these requests you can’t abide,
just pack your bags and move outside!
Follow my rules, or it’s your loss,
for in this house, I am the boss!
Prompt words today are shoulder, underwear, mongrel, trite and love. Image by Sincerely Media on Unsplash. Used with permission.
Also, for NaPoWriMo, Day 9, Make a To-Do List
For Cee’s FOTD
Keeping Abreast
If I were made the ruler of
this universe I rue and love,
the one thing I would not let “be”
is the force of gravity
in respect to just one issue.
Namely––my mammary tissue!
For, though you may feel dubious,
each year, I grow more boobious!
I do not like them hanging there
where once they used to thrust the air.
Where once each strained against its cup,
It seems like now they’ve given up.
Listless and flat, downward they droop.
Sad Sack replaces Betty Boop.
They have no personality.
They’ve lost elasticality!
The result is truly tragic,
so this is why I need some magic.
Please, gods of nature, give a cure.
There must be some way to inure
my breasts from force of gravity.
Now that I rule, hear my plea!
Tell gravity that it is best
to loose its hold upon each breast
so they are perky once again,
thrusting out below my chin
instead of hanging in two vees
somewhere down around my knees!
Restore my pride. Dispel my frown.
I want them hanging out, not down!
Is it cheating that this is a poem I wrote six years ago? More true now than then!!!!
