Tag Archives: #FOWC






When I’m in the mood for moping,
with no energy for coping,
reticent to kowtow to
boss or parent or guru,
when I’m feeling less than zealous,
down-at-soul, depressed or jealous,
concerned with what I seem to lack,
I go and lie upon my back
in bed or hammock or in pool
in water steaming, tepid, cool.

The point is getting horizontal

on a surface that is fontal,
foam or tightly woven and hung
in a garden, loosely slung.
And there I dream or inspect trees
for butterflies or birds or bees.
I watch their habits, or I dream
joining that unconscious stream
that says the world is not my biz.
Only what is closest is.

And I pull inward to a world
where all the universe lies furled.
Then, enlivened, I get up
to write or play with dogs or sup,
rejoining that space and clime
I’m meant to live in for a time.
I do what I have power to
to civilize this human zoo.
“Think globally,” they used to say.
“Act locally.” Still true today.


The prompts:

For Fandango’s one-word challenge: Handle

This is ForgottenMan subbing for Judy while she and her nephew Ryan are traveling in Mexico. She asked if I’d like to reblog some of her old posts in response to the various daily challenges here. I decided to only look at her posts from 2013-14, her first two years of blogging here.

Today’s FOWC prompt is  “Handle”. HERE is a poem Judy wrote back in September, 2014, as a response to the prompt “Handle with care”.

Breaking Her Diet


Breaking Her Diet

I measure her cat food with care from the vat,
but she has such an aptitude, my little cat
for flushing out lizards and others like that.
With delicate paw thrusts, she gives them a bat
’til they barely know where it is that they’re at,
then unleashes her claws for a more severe pat.

Be it lizard or bird or scorpion or rat,
she defeats it as though it were merely a gnat
and lays it out nicely on my front door mat:
one scorpion sting less or a feather for my hat,
then returns to the stool where she formerly sat,
licking her chops, and that’s why she’s so fat!!!


The prompts were cat, aptitude and delicate.




Endangered Species

Endangered Species

It bore investigation, the gods all seemed to think
to see what’s happening on Earth that’s raising such a  stink.
The clouds of poisonous vapors seemed to obscure their view
so they had to come much closer to see what they could do.

Here everyone seemed eager to screw the other guy,
sure that complete happiness was something they could buy.

They’d have to think of something to divert them from their wrath,
to deflect them from their lust for fortune to another path.

What if they gave them something to redirect their thought
from this mania for wanting what the other fella’s got?
They created Martin Cooper and made two guys named Steve,
gave them creativity and something up their sleeve
to invent these gadgets to connect us all together
so we could help each other in times of stormy weather.
But the plans of men and deities often go astray.
Even gods in heaven do not always know the way.

How could they know that iPads and tiny little phones,
the Internet and Facebook would turn us into drones
staring at our open hands or clicking selfie shots,
intent more on ourselves than in helping the have-nots?
While skulking in the background, cronies of corporation
plotted most unnoticed in corrupt cooperation
to keep the masses busy with their puzzles and their games,
their TV and their movies and their lists of contact names.

We all would be so busy staring at our palms
that no one would be worried. No one would suffer qualms
about what was happening—the greed and the pollution.
Our leaders all the problem and never the solution.
We sold our world for cyber toys, believed their staged reality.
Traded in our real world for scheduled banality.
Kardashians and Candy Crush, sitcoms and solitaire,
Twitter, selfies, Instagram—a virtual nightmare.

Have we really botched it? Will no one come to aid?
Will our species all die out? Sicken, fall and fade?
They say after Chernobyl the animals returned.
The grass and tees grew back where they formerly were burned.
Only humans can’t abide the mess that they have made.
as though they have created their own end by their charade.
It’s the way of evolution. Species come and species go
Those who do not worry as they vanish tell us so.

The thing that they don’t realize, just waiting round the bend
as species after species is herded toward its end,
of all endangered species, another they have hexed
may be homo sapiens, whose extinction may be next.

The prompts were below, investigation and eager. The links are below:




Red Eye


Red Eye

I’m suffering from swollen eyes
that make me appear in the guise
of one who’s had a recent loss
or been upbraided by her boss.
But, much as I appreciate
the words of sympathy you state,
 my red eyes, I must confess
are occasioned by much less.
I haven’t cut myself or fallen.
I’m simply suffering from pollen!

For Cee’s Flower of the day


Hand-Me-Down Advice

Hand-Me-Down Advice

May I speak with candor? It may be that those pants
looked fine on your mother, your grandma or your aunts;
but drawstrings are for knapsacks and snaps are to call waiters.
And it’s been 50 years or more since fashion sanctioned gaiters.
I know that they are comfortable but another thing
is that they’re lacking in panache. They haven’t any zing.
And just to finally seal the deal, dear, men just don’t make passes
at girls in baggy bloomers that exaggerate their asses.


The prompt words were comfortable and candor.


Time Out!


Time Out!

He was an avid sports fan. Alas, his wife was not.
With box scores and with averages, his mind was fully fraught.
Tennis, football, cricket? It mattered not a whit.
If a ball was fought over, he had to witness it.
Basketball and baseball and soccer were the same
as golf to him. Whatever. For all sport he was game.
At last, his wife had had enough and did what she was able
to cure his wild obsession. She cut the TV cable.

The TV went as black as night. The sports fan sat in shock.
He did not move a muscle. He did not blink or talk.
Then he began to jerk and shake as though having a fit.
Withdrawal from his sports fix seemed the cause of it.
As his delirium tremens overtook his life,
 things were getting better for his kids and wife.
His wife could watch her soap operas, the kids watched their cartoons.
No longer did a sports announcer fill their afternoons.

This furtive arrangement lasted for awhile
until our ballgame junkie figured out their guile.
He moved into a condo to catch up on his sport
and his wife remarried to another sort
who did not know a baseball from a hockey puck.
That such a man existed, she could not believe her luck!
The blessed quiet of her house with no announcer shouting
made her glad she turned her spouse’s inning to an outing!

The Prompts: