Tag Archives: #FOWC




We perambulate the meadow, our eyes drinking their fill,
our memories straying farther up over yonder hill.
The tirades of an angry world do not survive the climb,
leaving us to peacefulness simple and sublime.
The higher up thoughts wander, memory grows hypoxic,
screening out the terrors of a world that has grown toxic.

Wild poppies sway and bend to currents fresher than below
as what we both remember overtakes what lies below.
We draw fresh energy and joy from everything we pass.
The cicadas churr rain’s promises from the obscuring grass.
Small creatures race for burrows, unaccustomed as they are
to the human menace that approaches from afar.

But our thoughts pass without harming, for memories pose no threat,
and we shed years and worries the higher that we get.
Remember all those years ago, those passions that we shared
with each new faltering kiss and each new secret that we bared?
Though the present is what nourishes, youth vanished way too fast.
What harm can be in going back for a light repast?

Prompts today are memory, passed, thoughthypoxic, tirade, perambulate, fill.

Picking Your Pieces



Picking Your Pieces

Invest in possibilities and bifurcate your worries.

Soon enough these balmy days will change to winter’s flurries.
But why let future problems intercede today?
Best enjoy the present and put future woes away.

Being in a smaller pond makes you a bigger fish,
so whatever your situation, exercise your swish
and live your life with flair and joy. Wring all the zest from life.
It does no good to drown yourself in thoughts of gloom and strife.



Sometimes I find that in this life I get what I expect,
so when life hands you troubles, why don’t you just object
and turn those woes to prospects and insist on being chipper?
Why choose to be a pessimist when optimism’s hipper?

You might call me a dreamer, but that’s okay with me.

Why be imprisoned by your doubts when you could be free?
Life needn’t be a puzzle. It can be a quest.
Pick out the parts that you prefer and throw away the rest.





fish, bifurcate, invest and object.

Morning Chorus

Morning Chorus

Our rate of arboreal motherhood is getting out of hand,
with every brand new nestling cheeping to beat the band.
They lift their buoyant little songs to bob upon the air,
at least three tiny gaping beaks in each lofty lair,
pleading for some sustenance—a cricket or a worm
gathered from a garden plot or a roadside berm.
Mother bird and father bird chirping out their greeting

as though to give assurance of every round of eating.
This ear-splitting chorus merely nature’s way
to provide an overture to announce the day.

Prompts for today are buoyant, brandarborial and motherhood.

Directional Confusion

Photo by Daniel Giannone on Unsplash

Directional Confusion

The part of my brain that is least to my pleasing,
(most limited and therefore fodder for teasing,)
is my sense of direction, which isn’t the best.
I simply don’t know which way’s east, which way’s west.

Thus, between friends it is frequently spoken
that I am geographically broken.
When it comes to driving, I have the dexterity.

It’s just a matter of lacking temerity.

Such things as location and proper direction
just seem to be out of my reign of detection.
Expeditions to L.A. end up in Long Beach—
my talent for getting there just out of reach.

It’s not that I’m dumb, but it seems that the section
of brain that determines location election
just didn’t develop in the usual manner.
I lack other people’s inbuilt radar scanner.

I don’t mind the driving if you’ll man the maps.
From the start to the finish, just fill in the gaps.
I’ll turn when you say to. I’ll exit with ease.
Just do not demand that I navigate, please!

Photo by Joshua Coleman on Unsplash

(Unfortunately, although hyperbole, this one is not fiction.)

Prompts for today are expedition, dexterity, teasing, fodder andsection. Photos from Unsplash used with permission.


Happy Hour

Happy Hour

Let’s get together to workshop our souls,
then toss our past regrets back in their bowls.

Though life’s a lottery, full of calamity,
we are the agents of all of its amity.

Choices we make determine our ends.
Fate’s only responsible for its trick bends.

You bring the biscuits and I’ll provide wine.
We’ll discuss life as we sip and we dine.

No better remedy for life’s aversions
than hors d’oeuvres and drinks to provide our diversions.


Prompt for today are workshop, lottery, biscuit, calamity and agent.

Plum Pit, Apple Core


Plum Pit, Apple Core

Never saw an apple tree, never saw a plum
that I didn’t want to reach out and get me some.
Bite into the fleshy fruit. Chew around the pit.
Spit it out into my hand to get rid of it.
Dig a hole to bury it. Smooth it with my heel
to grow another fruit tree for a future meal.

Such a simple motion in a world grown gross—
most folks isolated, fearfully morose
about  nature’s rebellion against humankind.
Reaching deep within her and taking what we find
without giving back again—everybody keen
on scraping out her riches with some grand machine.

For manifold acts of mankind, dangerous and mean,
nature has not found an adequate vaccine.
But, by giving back again, we signify devotion

to start to rectify our sins with a simple motion.
Let’s help her out by simply remaining aware
that each and every one of us needs to start to care.

By every single action, let’s demonstrate our wills
to rectify our heedlessness, atone for all our ills.
For everything that we take out, putting something back.
To therein change our dangerous course and take another tack.
Just a simple gesture, signifying more.
Building back our world pit after pit, core after core.

We talk about solutions, never coming close—
spewing words not actions, maddeningly verbose.
But if every person just took their life in hand,
polluting less, enriching their surrounding land,
perhaps we’d shift the balance, tree by tree by tree,
restoring our world to what it’s meant to be.

Prompt words today are plum, motion,  vaccine, verbose and never

Coronavirus and the Corner Bar

Coronavirus and the Corner Bar

He scrubbed the bar with cleanser and moved apart the chairs
with six feet in between them and just a few in pairs.
He sterilized the counter with that gelatinous goo
that had become ubiquitous, as he was told to do.

He laid off all his servers and bartended well-masked,
ready to do with diligence whatever he was asked.
Yet his barstools sat neglected, for no one came to play
and his profit margin  was shrinking every day.

His savings were depleted by rent and overhead
 as all his favorite regulars stayed at home in bed.
When he looked at the percentages, he knew he had to act.
In one month he’d be ruined—bankrupted, in fact.

He took a bottle of the gin he’d used to such acclaim,
forgot vermouth and olives, taking careful aim,
to spill it down the counter where it ran down to the rug,
then upset a candle and departed with a shrug.

Carefully he locked the door, got in his car and left.
Basically broken-hearted, feeling gutted and bereft.
He saw flames in his rear-view mirror, his problems rectified
as he took the only out, committing barmecide.


Prompts for today are cleanser, basic, barmecide, acclaim and percentage. Photo by Jack Prichett on Unsplash, used with permission.

P.S.  If you wondered, as I did, what “barmecide” really means, as an adjective it means illusory or imaginary and therefore disappointing. As a noun, it means a person who offers benefits that are illusory or disappointing. Nope, I just couldn’t inflict that upon you.


The Custodian’s Lament

The Custodian’s Lament

I’m deluged by duty and lack an excuse.
A note from my mother won’t stop this abuse.
My boss has turned into that proverbial bully
who insists that I carry my job tasks out fully.
He says sweep the corridor, empty the trash.
It’s a menial method for earning my cash.
Wish I’d paid more attention in school back when
my teachers insisted that I take my pen
and answer those questions in English and math,
and started my life out on some other path.
Now I’m pushing a mop instead of  a pen,
thinking too late of what might have been!


Prompts for today are excuse, corridor, proverbial, deluge and duty. Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash, used with permission.

Marriage Vows


Marriage Vows

Sure of their joyful union, they’ll never rue the day
that they exchanged their vows on that blissful day in May,
but read their bitter interviews gathered five years hence,
accusing and denying, angry, bitter, tense.
Those whom God hath brought together let no human flout.
Every couple means their vows when given, there’s no doubt,

but kids and bills and taxes and a pretty new assistant
can create a need to grow increasingly more distant.
Hard to keep compliant to a former vow
when fate intervenes with that ever-changing now.


Prompts for today are union, sure, joyful, may and interview.