Tag Archives: Daily Prompt

Loud Music in the Rainy Season

 

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Loud Music in the Rainy Season

Up above me, such a din!
I feel my patience growing thin.
Cross fingers that they do not fall
as workmen scamper over all,
balancing on domes and peaks,
replacing roof tiles, sealing leaks.

They’re taking the old surface off
all my domes and drainage trough,
putting membrane down and goo
that will not let the water through
in June when rains beat hard and steady,
although, alas, they’ve come already!

The dogs are sent into a tizzy.
Looking up, I just get dizzy.
In this world that I love so,
down here in lovely Mexico,
now the grinder joins the din.
In a noise Olympics, it would win!

My thoughts all center on escaping
this chipping, drilling, pounding, scraping.
How I’d like to leave this all
for relative quiet at the mall!
But, alas, I must remain
a martyr to construction pain.

Ear plugs having no effect,
before my sanity is wrecked,
I turn up music to a SHOUT
to let Bob Dylan drown them out.
Now Caitlin Cary croons and sings
that she is “Sorry” and other things.

Eliza Gilkyson’s rough croon
is over oh too soon, too soon.
The silence that her true love speaks
replaced now by the sander’s shrieks,
I turn the iPod on again,
full force, to drown out all the din.

I’ve no sympathy for the neighbors’ plight.
Their damn dog kept me up all night,
and if my eardrums are to be shot
I would rather that it’s not
by machines like those above,
but rather by a sound I love.

The prompt word today is “thin.”

Mongrel Maven



Mongrel Maven

My bloodline’s scattered here and there—
a genealogist’s nightmare.
Racially, I’m broadly mixed.
The KKK would have me fixed.
My lineage being under-par,
I cannot join the D.A.R.
I have no claims to royalty,
so my name is title-free.
Who I am is merely me.
For this I need no pedigree!

 

The prompt word today is pedigree.

Chocolate Cake


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Chocolate

You’re being good and I am not.
I broke my diet and got caught.
I’d have resisted if I could,
but chocolate cake just looked so good.

I bought a piece, not a whole cake.
I thought a meal of it I’d make.
But now you feel you must rebut
my obvious need for chocolate.

Will you soon go? It’s getting late,
and there’s this chocolate on my plate.
And though I know it’s impolite,
the chances that I’ll share are slight.

Of your smug lecture I’ve had enough
and now it’s my turn to be tough.
If you must fall from your high throne
and dine on cake, go buy your own!

The prompt word today is slight.

Core Identity

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Core Identity

Whoever really gets to see
what is at the core of me?
Neither my mother nor my lover
gets to see beneath my cover.
No surgery has extracted it.
It’s not exposed in ire or wit.
It’s in a corner still unlit,
buried in identity’s pit.

Even I have not exhumed it, for
I’ve never found my very core.
Some say it’s found in meditation,
prayer or true love’s exaltation,
but I have journeyed into each
merely to wind up on the beach
of what I know must be the sea
of my soul’s identity.

Perhaps it is the world’s distractions––
all its toys and fine abstractions,
its petty jealousies and fears
regarding family and careers
that get me lost while searching for
that ladder, passageway or door
that will lead me to the root of me––
that seed of my identity.

Perhaps in death we’re rejoined with
the part of us that is our pith.
Could it be what life is for—
this striving toward identity’s core?
Perhaps the lonely death I fear
will finally serve to bring me near,
away from all those things I’m not
to that whole self I’ve always sought

 

The WordPress prompt today is core.

 

Skewed Liberty (This Country for Sale)

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Skewed Liberty

Everything is tilted. Slightly unaligned.
The constitution set askew. Liberty maligned.
Some of the well-heeled citizens think that this is fine.
They cannot see that everything is slightly out of line.
All the pretty Philistines queue up at their tees
while their flunky lawyers determine what to seize.
Contracts with the Russians. Schemes to sell off national land.
Cronies helping cronies. Off-shore drilling by demand.

Rivers being sullied and oceans compromised
while insuring rights to bear arms are exercised.
Certain pious preachers line up behind the svelte,
proclaiming to the masses that they know what Jesus felt.
Indeed, the smallest sparrow  no longer matters much
so long as all the mighty increase their greedy clutch––
all the moneychangers, corrupt to the core,
filling all their pockets with the money of the poor.

Surely it is clear that at ruling they’re inept,
and if he was watching, surely Jesus wept
as all the pearls of liberty were cast before the swine
with each self-serving libertine declaring  what is “mine.”
What is true no longer matters. What “they” say is now what now counts.
They say it’s holy scripture as they settle their accounts.
People, take off your blinders. Consider what is real.
One nation, under God, was not set up for them to steal!

The WordPress prompt today was skewed.

Forest Rounds

Round upon Round

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The nourishing environments of still water and the forest floor both bloom in circular beauty.  Whether the tiny orange “flowers” were flowers, mushrooms or another type of fungus, I couldn’t determine and I was too far behind our guide to ask.  The forest floor is in a Lacandon Reserve in Chiapas, where one of the few remaining members of this purely Mayan village led us though the forest. The cycle of nature is clearly portrayed as life springs forth from decay.  The still pond is actually a still inlet of an Amazon River tributary in Peru.

 From a 2014 post. The prompt today was forest.

 

Rebel Without A Clause

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These ladies and young ladies are certainly not without causes or clauses! The same is not true of me today.  Mental lapse.  

Rebel Without a Clause

I forgot to write my post today. It simply slipped my mind.
It was not done on purpose, for I’m not the rebel kind.
I do not flaunt convention. I do not break the rules.
I am polite to everyone. I gladly suffer fools.
So I don’t know the reason why it slipped my mind today
to look the daily prompt up and then to have my say.
So since I have not written, no poem exists because
I guess you’d have to say I am a rebel without a clause!

Phew! Just in the nick of time. If I hadn’t realized 15 minutes ago that I’d forgotten to write to the WordPress daily prompt, it would have been the first time in four years that I hadn’t done so!  Thanks to forgottenman for finding an appropriate photo to post with it.  The prompt today was rebel.

Tide of Laughter

 

 


Tide of Laughter

I used to roll with laughter most every day or so.
My parties were all riotous. No one would ever go
back home again till two or three or four or five or six.
And some would stay for breakfast, prerhaps hoping that I ‘d fix
my special chocolate waffles or orange berry strudels
or curried eggs or cheesy pie or strata made with noodles.
We’d story-tell and play charades and I admit, we’d drink
and stage our paper yacht races within the kitchen sink.
The guests might come in costume and some might bring a friend
for I had grown notorious for parties with no end.
When I was a teacher, I’d invite the whole darn staff.
Away from school, our hearts were gay. We dearly loved to laugh!
But this was years ago, my friend. Our hearts were young and gay.
Now that we’ve lived past sixty, we live a shorter day.
When I have my friends over to play a game or dine,
some find the spices don’t agree and others shun the wine.
Some have little dogs at home they have to feed by five.
Others have eye problems and find they cannot drive
after dark at all and so they have to leave by seven.
I guess our laughter’s done on earth. Perhaps we’ll laugh in heaven.

 

If you were around four years ago, you might have already read this. It is hyperbole.  Don’t worry, there is still laughter in my life.  It just tends to be a bit subtler these days. The prompt today is laughter.

In Quick Time


The more I slow down, the more rapidly the days seem to slip by. This oxymoron dominates my thoughts in those wee hours when I am trying valiantly to sleep. The awareness of how quickly my life is advancing into its third trimester plugs up my throat until I find it hard to breathe. I fumble for the door key, open the sliding glass doors and slip out onto the patio to gulp the cool night air.

The dogs circle round, Morrie drops hopefully in front of me, a ubiquitous green tennis ball in his jaws. There must be one of those balls hidden behind every plant in my garden.  Just four months ago, I had bought five tubes of them at the sports goods store—each containing three balls. I was about to set out on my yearly  two-month trip to the ocean. I wanted the house sitters to be well-supplied in everything, and the balls were on sale, so I had purchased what I thought would be a lifetime supply. But those balls seem to have vanished as quickly as the two months since my return home had. Two days ago, I had purchased two more tubes of balls. They sit unopened in the doggie supply vault that stores the large bin of dry dog food, a small fridge that holds the wet food I add to the dry food twice daily when I feed them, and other doggy paraphernalia: leashes, collars, medicines, rawhide bones, doggy biscuits.

And so this is a ball he must have rapidly reclaimed from some garden shadow when he heard my key in the lock to the terrace. I bend and reclaim the ball, then throw it over the pool down into the lower garden. Almost as soon as my arm falls to a vertical position, he is back with it again––everything in life seeming to speed up as I slow down.

Now, hours of insomnia and fewer hours of sleep later, I hear him whining on the other side of the security bars outside the open bedroom sliders. He would now have his morning come on more rapidly as I lie, computer on chest, writing my morning blog. I have slowed the world down for long enough. I find an appropriate ending and swing my feet to the floor, in search of Crocs. Time to get in line with the faster world’s schedule, at least for the time it takes to feed the dogs and cats.

 

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The prompt today is rapid.

Personal Style

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Personal Style

I do not like to fall in line
with any style that isn’t mine.
I am the one bent to upend
each cookie-cutter styling trend.
Flaunting current fads is boring.
Predictable sets me to snoring.
The style that I most like to see
reflects one’s personality.
There’s magic in diversity.

The prompt word today was flaunt.