This is my half of the beautiful bouquet from Leslie. I love the mix of old-fashioned flowers and moved it around the house as my activities took me here and there.
For Cee’s Flower of the Day prompt.
My Bouquet: FOTD Nov 26, 2019
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Sex Education
Sex Education
It’s a rite of passage. At the beginning of the chase,
we make do with kisses all about the face
with our mother’s staunchest warnings that we should wage a war
to maintain our chastity as in days of yore.
But TV is an oasis of fleshy predilections,
a veritable manual of “how to” sex directions.
Add to that the internet and to our folks’ remorse,
we can view every possible form of intercourse.
No more that gentle manual slipped into our hand
by an embarrassed mother whose speech is neatly canned—
birds and bees and butterflies, instructions prettified—
that certain code of etiquette that could not be defied.
So the twenty-first century deals with acts of love,
presented not with gentle push, but with a mighty shove.
Leave the loving out of it. The act is what we’re after.
Forget the gentle wooings, the tenderness and laughter.
It seems the world is doing its best to turn our teens
into walking, selfie-taking, loveless sex machines—
taking what they want so fast that they do not perceive
that love is also giving—not just what you receive.
Love techniques are fine so long as learners also see
that dealing with their feelings requires maturity.
Take care in your choosing. Make sure that you both love,
so when passion finally finds you, it fits you like a glove.
Prompt words today are passage, wage, oasis, staunch and chase.
Leslie’s Flowers
My friend Leslie gave me a huge gorgeous bouquet when she left to go back to the States. When Yolanda came to work the next day, she was admiring it. I asked what her favorite flowers were and she said the lilies, so I split the bouquet in two. Here she is with her half. I’ll show you mine tomorrow.
Femme Fatale
Image by Thiago Barletta on Unsplash used with permission
Femme Fatale
I must say the dress she wore—that sexy little number
did much to rouse the bench sitters from their usual slumber.
They rooted and they murmured. Some stood to lift their caps
at the revealing nature of her dress—especially its gaps.
She did as much to ameliorate the boredom of their day
as all the other passersby who passed along the way,
causing some widening of some eyes, some laboring for breath,
but it is only rumor that she caused one codger’s death.
Some say they’d seen him earlier clutching at his chest,
so a contributing factor was what she was at best.
Prompt words today are rouse, root, labor, ameliorate and number.
Hibiscus: FOTD Nov 24, 2019
Reined-in Adventures
Reined-in Adventure
My first mount was a hobbyhorse, I’d ride him up and down
all around the basement, if not around the town.
In summer we would come outside and ride along the walk
that my sister used for hopscotch–all scribbled up with chalk.
With reins clipped to his harness, I maintained a healthy clip.
Careful over sidewalk grooves, avoiding every dip.
Never did he tarry as we hurried on our way,
for when we reached our destination, I would feed him straw and hay.
Then, being very hungry after my vigorous ride,
I’d put away my pony before I went inside
and I’d become the pony and my mother would feed me
carrot sticks and cabbage hay, sitting on Daddy’s knee.
I’d whinny with each forkful. I’d toss my head, then prance
upstairs to my nap to dream of England and of France
where policemen still rode horses along the city streets,
racing after robbers and other heroic feats.
And in my dreams, my horse and I would have a glorious ride
more dangerous than earlier rides we had had inside.
Charging after bandits, fording rivers and
forsaking backyard sidewalks for dirt and stone and sand.
We’d clamber up steep mountainsides to try to find a pass,
then kick up rocks while sliding down to sail through fields of grass.
We’d conquer all the beaches, then roll through fields of clover,
having wilder adventures until my nap was over.
Prompt words for today are hobbyhorse, harness, groovy, tarry and straw.
Tabachine: FOTD Nov 23, 2019
For Cee’s FOTD
Sub-tropical Skies: Open Book
Open Book
Here beneath the Tropic of Cancer,
the sky is a book opened to the wrong pages.
The Big and Little Dippers?
Pages ripped from the spine.
Orion a well-thumbed page,
held directly overhead like a book
read lying on my back.
And is it fact or fantasy
that once I saw the Southern Cross
stretched on its back
near the horizon
to the south?
Floating half-asleep with mists
of water hot from the volcano
rising around me,
was it a dream or real,
those four twinkling stars
seen just once before that night our boat
slipped over the equator?
Then, as now,
all time seems wedded—
afloat in a universe
of stars and water—
tiny no-see-ums
forming their own active constellations
as they whirl up over the water
and back down in clusters.
Wee moving
stars.
Mr. Havisham
photo by Phil Hodkinson on Unsplash, used with permission
Mr. Havisham
His eggs and toast at breakfast are balanced out with kippers.
He dines on them in satin robes and tiny velvet slippers.
Later, it’s his riding habit, whip securely fisted,
although hinted-at stables have never quite existed.
Fantasy and artistry consume his waking world,
as though it’s here that childhood dreams are finally unfurled.
That unexpected ostrich plume, this candle-scented air?
What we see as ostentatious, he maintains is flair.
This flair abounds around him everywhere he goes.
He waves it like a banner from his hair and clothes.
Lacy collars, pompadours and velvet tailored suits
match French provincial furniture and tiny pointed boots.
He hardly knows the difference, now that he is older,
and does not notice as those dreams begin to fade and molder.
His costumes growing threadbare, his candles melting down,
he no longer draws attention wandering through the town.
He has become a fixture, slowly fading in,
shuffling into the future, forgetting where he’s been.
All the single people, constructing lonely lives
creating their personae in unique little hives,
all of us so busy we fail to heed each other,
seeing as a stranger who might have been a brother.
We concentrate on all those differences we see,
choosing to see difference instead of what could be.
For more eccentric behavior, go here: https://judydykstrabrown.com/tag/eccentricity/ Too bad these two never met.
Prompt words today are ostentatious, flair, unexpected, difference and clothes.
Bah Humbug and the Sadly Mismatched Couple
Bah Humbug and the Sadly Mismatched Couple
Right after Thanksgiving, up the tree went.
She loved all the trimmings. She savored the scent!
The outside of the house was embellished with lights,
snowmen and angels and other delights.
Once she was done, she was charmed and elated—
the garlands all hung and the tree decorated.
Christmas delighted her, yet all the fuss
just prompted her husband to grumble and cuss.
The lights hurt his eyes. He bemoaned the excesses.
He skulked and he pouted. He spurned her caresses.
Just the sight of the tree made him nasty and surly,
and yet every year, she put it up early.
How this tale ends is hard to relate.
I fear that a split was their ultimate fate.
She found her a mate who was cheerful and newish
and he found a wife who was blessedly Jewish!
Prompt words today are decorated, skulk, nasty, surly and delighted.
