Tag Archives: Daily Prompt

Miss(ed) Popularity

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Miss(ed) Popularity

Her inflated ego received its puncture
just precisely at the juncture
of her ego colliding with
the truth that contradicted myth.

That she was hot was not debated—
just whether she was educated,
for it was clear to any fool
mere heat does not determine cool.

 

The prompt today was “punctured.”

About that picture. I was walking along the shore and saw a man sitting in this chair drinking a margarita.  “That’s the life,” I said to him and at this point he got up, offered the chair to me and gave me his margarita.  With the other hand he took the camera from me to snap this photo.  As he did, this woman came out of the ocean and posed in front of me.  I swear this was not set up–at least by me!!!

There is a rear view I will spare your from.  Well, what the heck.  Why spare you from anything?

 

Attracting Notice

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Attracting Notice

Where she should  bulge, she seems to taper,
so when her tailor sought to drape her,
he had to stuff with rags and paper
in an attempt to reshape her.
But alas, this futile caper
ended with not a singe gaper.

The word prompt today was taper.

Full Volume

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(Click on first photo to enlarge all.)

 

Full Volume

I hear my neighbor’s fighting cocks crow into the night,
expressing their readiness for tomorrow’s fight.
There are always noises cutting through the dark.
I hear the donkey’s braying and the dog’s loud bark.

Some neighborhood weekend party goes on ’til four or five,
expressing at great volume that they’re glad to be alive.
The singing and the music and the fireworks exploding
that sometimes make me feel as though my head may be imploding.

The church bells in the village every quarter hour declaring,
trucks advancing street by street, loudspeakers rudely blaring.
One truck selling vegetables, another selling gas,
shouting out their wares to everyone they pass.

Others selling water or cooking oil or soap,
scrub brushes or sponges, plastic buckets or rope—
Motorcycles without mufflers roaring down the street
revving up their motors for every friend they meet.

Bandas in the plaza play at a decibel
that I swear could raise the bats straight up out of Hell.
Mexico isn’t subtle. It’s bright and bold and proud.
That’s why for everything in Mexico, the volume’s turned up LOUD!!!!

 

 

The prompt word was volume.

Seasoned with Failure

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Seasoned with Failure

“Failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor.”
                                                           –Truman Capote

Is it coincidence that spice is also known as “seasoning?”
The explanation for this fact (according to my reasoning)
is because we need a bit of this, a bit of that
lest our cuisine and also our lives become too flat.
Summer, winter, spring and fall—
no season dominates us all.
And this is why, then, in my view,
a pinch of failure in the brew
sprinkled on at fate’s behest
is what gives success its zest.
If you wish to triumph in the end,
accept some failure in the blend.

 

The prompt today was triumph.  This poem is a rewrite of a poem written 3 years ago.

Revelation in Twilight: 19 Studies of the Moon

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Revelation in Twilight

This morning I woke early—an hour before light
obscured my vision of the moon, hanging like a kite
in the night-stained sky, there through my window bars.
suspended high up in a sky devoid of clouds or stars.

Just a minute later, it moved along with me
to float the pool’s surface that only I could see.
Too soon the sun would come, its golden light to douse.
But for now, it followed me as I walked through my house.

Friendly moon to loiter in my company.
It seemed this early morning that both of us were free
to spend a few rare moments quietly alone.
Both of us free-floating in the twilight zone.

(Please click on first photo to enlarge all.)

 

 

 

The prompt today was revelation. All photos by jdb.

Big Spender

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Big Spender

If a kiss were legal tender
I know those of either gender
who in the midst of a big bender
would be labeled a big spender.
And though they’re comely, fit and slender,
and may have many a staunch defender,
if I’m looking for a lender,
I’d prefer a less-used vendor.

 

The prompt today is “tender.”

Elocution

Elocution

When I was a child, I had a little lisp,
but now that I am older, my speech is bold and crisp.
I can voice my esses with no teeth pressed to my tongue.
I express myself more clearly than I did when I was young.
“Yes,” I say most clearly when my family asks for dough.
The only problem I have now is how to utter “No!”


I’ve had no electricity for almost 24 hours.  Need to get this up quickly, using my phone as a hotspot and a backup battery that is almost dead.  A day without a computer?  What will I do, folks?

The prompt today is crisp.

Richly Ragged

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Richly Ragged

Youth today want to abolish
all the elegance and polish
that has received such veneration
from their parents’ generation.
Jeans with rips and shirts with holes
seem to be their fashion goals.
What is ironic is the tags.
They spend a fortune for these rags!

 

The prompt today is polish. Image taken from the internet.

Ragtag Hattie

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jdbphoto

 

Ragtag Hattie

Though her clothes are old and ratty,
her cast-off hats tattered and gnatty,
and her aroma eau de catty,
still her style is somewhat natty.
She has a certain savoir faire,
a childlike, careless stylish air.
Silk scarves and clanking jewelry
devoid of runway foolery.

Diaphanous and parachutey,
silk nightgowns might do double duty
as ballgowns were she ever asked
to functions one arrives at masked
in Dior dresses  or black tie.
In lieu of that, she’ll just get by
strolling the streets in finery
gained from her dumpster minery.

Onlookers may think her batty—
clothes so rumpled, hair so matty.
all of her gloriously tatty—
her ballet slippers so pitter-patty
scuffling through the city streets,
greeting everyone she meets.

She is a fixture in our town
with a certain wide renown.
Pointed out to visiting friends,
her unique presence somehow lends
a flavor to the streets she walks.
She does not mind the stares and gawks.

Until one day she is not there—
her birdlike plumage, strange and rare
flown to a runway far above–
a blown-off hat, a single glove
left on the stairway where she fell—
to become this legend that I tell.

 

 

The prompt today is natty.

Dressed to Kill

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Dressed to Kill

Ladies have loved a uniform
since writing was in cuniform.
They’ve flirted with each man they’ve met
with shoulders garbed in epaulet.
No telling what the reason may be
why every serviceman they see
with stripes and bars upon his chest
is the man they like the best.

A Scottish guardsman who’s well-built
may show his legs off in a kilt,
whereas an Arab man who’s urban
struts his stuff beneath a turban.
Cops on their beats and Maitre d’s
have all the ladies that they please
when they don the prescribed clothes
in which they are assigned to pose.

Some women even make a grab
for guys they see in olive drab.
Ushers in jackets and in gloves
have been known to find new loves
in their darkened theater aisles
as they exercise their wiles
escorting with a liveried arm
those special ladies they seek to charm.

German gents who seek attention,
it’s hardly necessary to mention,
when they’re wanting to be chosen,
don a pair of lederhosen.
And sailors find they rarely lose out 
when they get their navy blues out.
It’s true a full-regalia’d guy
is sure to catch the feminine eye.

Be it a robe or regimental,
there’s simply something elemental
about a man who’s dressed to kill—
for women cannot get their fill
of a gentleman in monkey suit.
Unsuited men just can’t refute
that they suffer real regrets
that that man in epaulets
gets all the women that he gets!

The prompt today was “uniform.”  (image of Barney Fife from internet.)