Tag Archives: Daily Post

Purple Passion

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Purple Passion

My days of purple passion regrettably are over—
all those desktop gropings and rollings in the clover.
His need to perform publicly an act that should have been
romantically private? I was reluctant to back then.
But now that passion seems to be on permanent vacation.
We old gals get excitement by our over-lunch relation
of bygone tales of passion, in fact it is a blast
trading juicy tidbits as we share a light repast.
It seems that we get pleasure in sharing just a few
public recitations of what we were loath to do.

.

The prompt word today was purple.

Out of Scope: Symbiosis from Afar


Out of Scope: Symbiosis from Afar

Although you might feel I abhor you,
I don’t mind doing these things for you;
but truth is, all things done together
need a rather lengthly tether.
We might do better at symbiosis
if it were not for your halitosis.

 

Symbiosis was today’s prompt word. Images borrowed from stock photos.

Bouquet

Bouquet

All the love that you confess
I fear is rendered meaningless
by the kiss you choose to press
near the neckline of my dress.
Hidden by collar, more or less,
the flower you rendered like counting coup
last night, now blooms in black and blue.
It was the least that you could do
once you’d gone through all your brew
and needed a diversion new.

When you said you’d shower me with flowers,
I envisioned vases, bowers.
Not this expression of your power
that lowered me from ivory tower
and taught me how to cringe and cower.
Each floral offering rendered anew
confirms what I must one day do.
each page in this scrapbook of you
written in a violent hue
on my body is one you’ll rue.

Once I’ve worked out my solution,
plotted and planned my retribution,
prepared the waters of my ablution,
then I will stage my revolution
and enact our dissolution.
I’ll pluck my flower from your bouquet
and be no more beneath your sway.
I will be happy and free and gay
with no nightly price to pay.
I really will. One day, one day

The prompt word today is meaningless.

Take Ordinary Caution

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Take Ordinary Caution

As pallbearer for my friend Larry,
I heard these deaths were ordinary
and if a fellow wished to  parry
his own demise, he should be wary
of our town apothecary.

For each he saves, there’s one they bury.
That is why I’m sorta wary,
and why I find his sign so scary
and ironically cautionary
when I read it’s “Cash and Carry.”

The prompt word today was ordinary.

Generational Drift

Generational Drift

It’s a symptom of their stage of life,
a product of their age.
Adolescents have to disagree
and posture, pout and rage.

That teenage chemical is now
rampaging through each vein,
bringing self-doubt, embarrassment,
confusion and disdain.

Nothing so discomforting
as advice of a parent.
Teens crave emancipation,
but go through with it? They daren’t.

They may neglect their family time
in favor of their friends.
The list of what is wrong with you?
Somehow it never ends.

If you could just dress better,
they might find it easier to
admit you were their parents
when they run into you.

But as it is they meet your eye,
their own eyes simply narrowing.
They walk by like a stranger.
To address you would be harrowing.

You rip your jeans and cut your hair
so it looks freshly tumbled,
but you cannot please them.
If you try, you will be humbled.

“Gross,” they’ll say, “You’re not a kid,
so why attempt to be one?”
But if you keep your present look,
they’ll say that you are no fun.

How can one be as old as you
and not know anything?
For their advice, they’ll go online
to consult the I Ching.

Ouiji boards and seances
bring advice from the past.
It seems words really ancient
contain more of a blast.

So parents, do not anguish
if you can’t reach your at-hand kids,
Just wait ’til you have passed away
and talk to your great-grandkids!

The prompt today is symptom.

Life is More Wonderful

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Life is More Wonderful

Concentrate on daily things—
the scent of toast perfectly browned,
new sheets gathered from the line,
this morning’s treasures spread on the ground:

a robin’s egg, inventing blue,
left on your doorstep, as though for you.
Seed of sycamore spinning down
to land with precision on your shoe.

Life is more wonderful with what
can come through serendipity;
and once we’re clothed and fed and sheltered,
what’s most valuable is free:

A child’s questing hopeful look
as he searches worlds within a book.
Heartfelt laughter dispelling pain
and friends who will return again.

Pity those for whom success
means piling gold in offshore banks;
whose quest for more will sacrifice

the health of children to buy more tanks.

They’ve gone too far to ever know
how much pain and how much woe
is occasioned by their status quo—
how much unhappiness they’ll sow.

Acceptance of their ignorant greed
will lead us down the path they’ve worn.
They’ll leave our world stripped and bereft,
her wondrous freedoms raped and shorn.

So as they pillage, ruin, and rape
an environment that can’t escape,
be glad that stubborn others insist
that we drive these bullies from our midst.

 

We know too much of the world’s ills
to ever fully feel at peace,
for that safe world that we have known
can not be lived without surcease.

Enjoy your happiness in each thing
that luck or your hard work might bring,
but share these things with everyone
lest all we stand for comes undone.

There is much in life that we
must learn to live with and accept;
but other things that we can change,
and leaders who are more adept

at giving us the basics for our health and happiness:
clean water, schools and health care. Never accept less.
If our quest for fool’s gold destroys what it can’t buy,
we’re simply fools caught building dream castles in the sky.

In times that are distressing,
millions of voices shout,
“To preserve simple pleasures,
drive these carpetbaggers out!”

The prompt today was acceptance. (Not.) The rather unusual use of two rhyme schemes in one poem came about naturally at first, as though some part of me rebelled against even the strictures of the poetic form.  Then it seemed natural to vary the justification as well.  Yes, we need justification, but it need not follow the rules we do not agree with.  So, both center and left justification and next line and alternate line rhyme.  Seemed right for this poem. 

Empty Morning

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Empty Morning

Since the fish refuse to come and play,
the fishermen have gone away.
And since there are no fish to score,
the birds have found another shore
to swoop over and sit upon.
The beach is empty when fish are gone.

Yesterday a busy throng
milled on the beach the whole day long.
But today they’ve gone to job
or school or kitchen—the whole mob.
My world is quiet. The ocean swell
once more has a tale to tell
purely itself. No interlopers.
No beer-swiggers or docile dopers.

No kids squealing as they wade
with parents watching from the shade
of palapas strung along the shore
close enough to ocean’s roar
to grab a toddler grown too brave
from the grasp of an ambitious wave.

Once more, the beach is just itself.
The sand has formed an unmarred shelf
just outside my beachside door.
No beach shovels to scoop and gore,
no sandcastles along the shore.
No footsteps strung along the beach
extending far above wave’s reach.

No butts or bottles, abandoned sandals.
No beach graffiti by vandals
innocently written in the sand
with a stick held in the hand.
“Chuy loves Luz” erased by wave,
impossible, perhaps to save
in either beachside sand or heart,
their teenage love doomed from the start.

All these stories tucked away
by one of few who chose to stay
after the throng has returned home,
leaving only ocean foam
that overnight swept them away.
Every morning, a clean new day.

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The prompt word today was minimal.  I used the theme for the poem, but not the word itself.  If you are a prompt-purist and feel the word must be seen, read on:

You won’t find the word “minimal.”
Its presence is subliminal!