Tag Archives: Daily Prompt

HALLOW E’EN

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The Prompt: Trick or Trick—It’s Halloween, & you just ran out of candy. If the neighborhood kids (or anyone else, really) were to truly scare you, what trick would they have to subject you to?

Hallow E’en

They pound upon my door and wait outside my wall.
One climbs a tree to peer within. I hope he doesn’t fall.
I cower here within my house. Perhaps they’ll go away.
Though I am not religious, eventually I pray.

Their little voices raise a pitch. They start to bay and howl.
There’s a flutter in my heart region, a clutching in my bowel.
I purchased Reese’s Pieces and miniature Kit Kats
just for all these masked and costumed little brats.

My motives were unselfish. The candy was for them,
for I don’t eat much candy in efforts to grow slim.
And yet that bag of Reese’s, those small Kit Kats and such
called to me from where they were sequestered in my hutch.

It started with a whisper, hissing out their wish:
“We would look so pretty laid out on a dish!”
I knew that they were evil. I knew it was a trap.
I tried hard to resist them, my hands clenched in my lap.

I turned up my computer, listening to “The Voice.”
Those candy bars would not be seen till Halloween—my choice!
My willpower was solid. No candy ruled me.
(If that were true, no kids would now be climbing up my tree.)

Yes, it is true I weakened. I listened to their nags.
I took the candy from the shelf and opened up the bags.
Their wrappers looked so pretty put out for display
in one big bowl so colorful, lying this-a-way

and that-a-way, all mixed and jumbled up together.
No danger of their melting in this cooler weather.
I put them on the table, then put them on a shelf,
so I would not be tempted to have one for myself.

When people came to visit, I put them by my bed.
Lest they misunderstand and eat them all instead.
Then when I was sleeping, one tumbled off the top.
I heard it landing with a rustle and a little “plop.”

I opened up one eye and saw it lying there
just one inch from where I lay, tangled in my hair.
Its wrapper was so pretty—foiled and multi-hued.
Some evil force took over as I opened it and chewed!

This started a small avalanche of wrappers on the floor
as I ripped & stuffed & chewed & swallowed more & more & more!
This story is not pretty but has to be confessed.
My only explanation is that I was possessed.

They pound upon my door and wait outside my wall,
but I have no candy for them. No treat for them at all.
Surrounded by the wrappers, bare bowl upon my lap,
I think I’ll just ignore them and take a little nap.

I hear them spilling o’er my wall and dropping down inside.
I try to think of what to do. Consider suicide.
They’re coming in to get me. Beating down my door.
They are intent on blood-letting—the Devil’s evil spore.

I guess it’s not the worst death a gal could ever get.
I’ve heard of much worse endings than death by chocolate!

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Midnight Light

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Midnight Light

I wear darkness like a second skin.
It is the cloak that hides my midnight sin
as I make my way, barefooted, through my house.
Silent, lest I wake my dogs or spouse.

This way I know most well and so I bridge
in seconds that long gap between my bed and fridge.
Pull open that snug door and hear the plop
first of the rubber gasket, then the top

of the carton that has been my goal.
Spoon out its richness without benefit of bowl.
This darkness both of me and of the night
something the fridge dispenses with its light

as tears of joy and guilt and pleasure stream
down cheeks distended with this chocolate dream.
For minutes, I stand caught up in the hold
of this trio of pleasures: chocolate, creaminess and cold.

Until some motion jolts me from their grip.
I feel its pressure at my shoulder and my hip.
My spouse rolls over, shattering my dream
of midnight tryst with frozen cream.

Its chocolate savor is one that I try to keep
as I roll over once again to seek my sleep.
Whatever course my next dream serves, I’ll try it.
For I’ve already been one long day on this diet!

The Prompt: Trio No. 3—Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call).

Shell Game

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The Prompt: In Retrospect—Yesterday you invented a new astrological sign. Today, write your own horoscope — for the past month (in other words, as if you’d written it October 1st).

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Shell Game: Cancer the Crab Horoscope for October, 2014:

The hermit crab will come out of your shell during this month without the usual impulse of wanting to retreat back inside in response to the frustrations of a too-busy world. Variety is the spice of life, but too many things done often lead to none being done well. This month there will be a tendency to schedule too many activities and to become overextended. Vital matters will be overlooked as you attend to the matters of others. As you do even more than your usual amount of scurrying around, you should take care to schedule time for rest and relaxation lest a too-busy schedule cause your crabbiness to become more obvious than usual.

For the busy Cancerian, October is the month to do all those things neglected for too long such as wills and other legal matters. Time to clean out those garage shelves and to dip into boxes unopened for too many years and to sort and discard.

Time spent with an old friend might lead you to make faulty decisions regarding travel. This month it would be better to stay closer to home, lest you regret plans made hastily with too little research.

Creativity will be on the upswing as you deal with collaborations on many fronts and move to complete projects begun long ago and left unfinished for too long.

On the romantic front, semantic differences will be largely to blame for a misunderstanding with a loved one. The clarification of old issues again brought to light may cause pain as each struggles to see the world from the other’s vantage point. The forward-thinking Cancerian will remember that there is no gain without pain and take comfort from the fact that towards the end of the month, the growing pains accompanying this period of rapid growth will ease for both of you.

Sign of the Chameleon

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images(stock photo: borrowed image.  No attribution given)

The Prompt: Custom Zodiac—You’re tasked with creating a brand new astrological sign for the people born around your birthday — based solely on yourself. What would your new sign be, and how would you describe those who share it?

The Chameleon: (June 21—July 22) Colorful souls born under the sign of The Chameleon have the remarkable capacity of adapting to the world around them. The multidimensional chameleon has a broad spectrum of interests and talents and is often the favorite son or daughter. The Biblical story of Jacob giving his youngest and favorite son Joseph a coat of many colors perfectly illustrates, however, how what starts out as a blessing might often evolve into a curse. Luckily, however, those born under the stars of The Chameleon will have the ability to change diversity into blessing. Thus does the chameleon constantly adjust with the world to bring himself/herself from danger to safety, danger to safety.

Chameleons are often given the gift of prophecy and clairvoyance. It is perhaps their precognitive dreams that enable them to adjust more quickly to the vagaries of their environment and that serve as a guide through life’s travails. The Chameleon sometimes lacks focus and in spreading himself too thinly may become a jack-of-all-trades and a master of none.

Chameleons often have a hard time finding a balance between their own needs and the needs of others, which leads to a constant rebalancing between selfishness and self-sacrifice. Regularity will never be the norm for the chameleon as he shifts between isolation and over-extension. All too ofen, his colorful world includes the colors of black and white—extremes that can cause him to have bipolar tendencies. Fortunately, his tendency to change hue with the situation causes him to rarely carry his shifts in mood to their extremes.

(Now, go see: This Answer to the Prompt)

Home Repeat Home

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The Prompt: Doppelgänger Alert—You step into an acquaintance’s house for the first time, and discover that everything — from the furniture, to the books, to the art on the wall — is identical to your home. What happens next?

 

Home Repeat Home!

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
be it ever so humble, there is a place like home!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3WAZ60xA9wo

 

 

Saved

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The Prompt: Local Color—Imagine we lived in a world that’s all of a sudden devoid of color, but where you’re given the option to have just one object keep its original hue. Which object (and which color) would that be?

Saved

If all at once, all color were bleached out from the world
and suddenly a universe of whiteness were unfurled—
the rainbow, flowers, trees and art all newly bleached and pearled—

I know what single object I would choose to retain
in all its colored glory, in every hue and stain,
in sun and shadow, snow and hail and dust storm, drought and rain.

Its natural color changes every day we see revealed
over every continent: forest, city, field—
over every place from which the colors will be peeled.

This one glorious object would retain its vivid hues.
It would be the whole world’s canvas and every poet’s muse.
Every lake and river, its reflection would infuse

with all the colors nature has selected for that day:
blue or gold or purple, salmon, orange or gray,
according to whatever whim of moisture, dust or ray.

If I select the sky as the object that I’d choose
to retain its myriad pigments that only start with blues,
there are a thousand colors that we wouldn’t have to lose!

And the whole world could see them in the daytime or the night.
All the colors of the rainbow would not be lost to sight,
as every day and every hour, a new one’s brought to light.

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photo by Judy Dykstra-Brown, On the road to Ajijic.

Costume

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Daily Prompt: Masks Off—We’re less than a week away from Halloween! If you had to design a costume that channeled your true, innermost self, what would that costume look like? Would you dare to wear it?

Costume

I want to be an artist, a writer and a wife—
juggling all these masks with just a minimum of strife.
A lover, mother, daughter, cousin, sister-in-law, sister.
A friend to every woman and a temptress to each mister.
A master to my canine friends and slave to all my cats.
A pal to all my blogger friends, not just to swell my stats.
As well as to some Facebook friends and email friends and Skype.
(I no longer use snail mail—I’m simply not the type!)
So, if I were being truthful and I didn’t give a fig
about what others thought of me, I’d dress up like a pig.
Why the porcine costume? The tail curled in a ring?
Because in my life choices—I want everything!

I’ll Have to Go

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The Prompt: Finite Ceatures—At what age did you realize you were not immortal? How did you react to that discovery?

I’ll Have to Go

This journey of our lifetime is a one-way ride.
I realized the truth of this the day my father died.
But in the living of it, I forgot again—
concentrating on the present and where I had been
instead of thinking of the future and mortality.
There’s something in a busy life that sets the spirit free,
convincing us that we’re immortal. That we’ll always be.

The many times that I was made to see I might have died:
the time I was abducted and taken for a ride,
the time he held the gun up to my head and pulled the trigger,
as I fell to the street, somehow my life seemed to get bigger;
and I saw all of it at once, spread out there below me,
and somehow though I wasn’t dead, I felt that I was free,
and for awhile, I found it was enough to simply be.

There have been other times when death has had me in its clench:
the time not long ago when that limb missed me by an inch,
the time I nearly drowned when I knew I was gone for sure,
yet somehow, death rejected me—released me from its lure.
It’s just at night when I’m alone that all comes tumbling back
and I begin to calculate all that my life might lack,
and life becomes a tempting peddler opening his pack.

The places never visited, the loves I let pass by,
and all the other things I thought to do before I die
all tumble out to tempt me and I think perhaps I still
have some things to do before I climb that final hill.
I think, perhaps, there’s one more love. One journey yet or two.
So many things that I have left I always thought I’d do.
So I am getting ready—only waiting for my cue.

That’s why at night I lie awake, sometimes remembering.
At other times just wondering what this next year will bring.
If I am lucky, I have thirty years or more till death
takes away these memories and stills my final breath.
Until then, I’ll live life fully and go where I must go.
I’ll follow my own pathway and ignore the status quo.
Instead of drifting lazily, I’ll row and row and row!

You’ve Got Mail

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The Prompt: Fourth Wall—You get to spend a day inside your favorite movie. Tell us which one it is — and what happens to you while you’re there.


You’ve Got Mail

That bouquet of sharpened pencils? They had me from the start.
Who knew that Mr. Hanks had that effect upon my heart?
I know it was the writers. I’m a writer. I’m not dim!
And it was just a role he played—it really wasn’t him!
Nor was it his main character that penned those words so fine.
It was his alter ego that he only used on-line!

Suspending disbelief is what we writers count upon.
In another lingo, we might call it a fine con.
We take our readers from themselves into a new dimension,
where we create a world that’s purely of our own invention;
and there we spin a fantasy that catches them within it—
offering a prize so rare that readers want to win it.

And films use music, too, to try to capture our emotions,
wiping out our common sense and filling us with notions.
The track to “You’ve Got Mail” was as romantic as could be!
If little birds fly oe’r the rainbow, why, indeed, can’t we?
We all identified and put ourselves into the tale,
and when it ended happily, we all read, “You’ve Got Male!”

Mommy Think

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The Prompt: Reverse Shot—What’s your earliest memory involving another person? Recreate the scene — from the other person’s perspective.

My earliest memory is waking up in my crib and making a noise to let my mom know I was awake and then watching her walk in with a big grin.  I remember very clearly thinking how delighted she was to see me and how anxious she must have been for me to wake up!  Ha!

Mommy Think

I can hear the baby stirring, but she’s quiet for now.  I guess I’ll try to finish the Daily Crossword before going in to see if she’s really ready to get up from her nap.  If she’s wet or restless, she always lets me know—the same gurgle as usual, but a bit louder, to make sure I notice.

The divan I’m lying on is so close to the open door to her room that there’s no chance I won’t hear her if she really needs me.  Hmmmmm. A Hawaiian goose.  I’ve seen that a dozen times.  Nene, I think.

Oh, Oh.  There’s that little singing purr.  She’s ready.  So much for the puzzle for a little while, until I get her changed, liquified and busy with her toys in her playpen.

There she is.  So adorable, peeking out from between the bars of her crib.  I can see her eyes dilate when she sees me, one chubby little arm reaching through the bars,  hand out, fingers spread.  Waving hello like her sisters taught her.  Face open in the biggest grin to see her mom.  It’s like looking in a mirror.  I can feel that same grin stretching my own cheeks.  I can’t believe I’ve created this sweet girl.  Me, the laziest woman on earth—I made this!

She’s gotten heavier and OUCH! those little fingernails need trimming.  She wraps her chubby legs around me like a vise.  Fat little toes for gobbling as I change her diaper.  That strange arrow birthmark pointing straight down and filling the vee between her legs like a direction signal. So strange.  My first child to have marks of any kind–the small port wine stain on her neck, and this larger brown birthmark in such an odd place. So glad this big one will never really show that much so long as she has any clothes on at all.

She’s perfect, so far as anyone else knows.   I’ll put her with a cookie and orange juice in her bottle into her playpen and finish my puzzle.  No need to change her clothes.  Her dad will be home soon for his afternoon break and he’ll have her filthy from his field clothes within seconds of entering the house.  They’ll both be asleep within minutes–him in his rocking chair with his feet up on the footstool and the glass of iced tea I’ve brought him sweating on his chair-side table, her stretched out on her tummy on his chest, little cheek pressed against his neck, wheat chaff and field dust on her sleeper and making light depressions on her cheek. I’ve never seen a man who loves babies more.  When we don’t have one of our own, he borrows them from tourists in the restaurant where he meets his friends for coffee in the afternoon.  “Want me to hold your baby for you while you eat?” he says, and they always say yes.  The novelty of the big farmer in the J.C. Penny’s khaki work clothes and the straw hat holding their little city baby?  They just wish they’d brought their camera in.

Hmmm. A South American Country.  Peru? No, that’s just four letters. Chile? There’s Ben’s truck.  Guess I’ll get the baby out of the playpen and have her waiting at the door for him when he comes in!

The Prompt: Reverse Shot—What’s your earliest memory involving another person? Recreate the scene — from the other person’s perspective.

(P.S.This is a pretty unremarkable post for my 300th posting, but I have an eye appointment in an hour so must hurry.  Perhaps I’ll do another post later in the day…It was fun trying to write from my mother’s perspective.  Sorry it had to be so hurried.)

(P.P.S. The eye doctor never showed up, although I waited an hour.  I was sure it said I had an appointment in my calendar.  I must need my eyes examined!)

2017 Note:  It’s been three years since Word Press used the prompt “recreate.” At that time, I used the prompt to make my 300th blog entry.  Now I have penned (or shot) my 3,444th entry, so it seems appropriate to reblog it.  Thanks for reading it—and perhaps for reading it again.