Tag Archives: Lazy Bones

Lazy Feet


Lazy Feet

Crossing the room or traversing the plain,
one foot goes in front of the other again.
It is the business of shoe after shoe
to follow each other through sand, dirt or goo.

They have easy going through fields filled with clover,
but when they meet something they have to climb over,
their task is much harder. No reflecting or browsing,
for climbing up hills is ten times more rousing.

They  pump up the blood, these mountains and ramps.
They irritate arches and instigate cramps.
They cause blisters, pulled muscles, and wear a girl out.
That’s why I don’t often saunter about.

You won’t often find me walking out there
with the wind to my back and stirring my hair.
For although there’s less scenery, I do not care.
I prefer bed or hammock or chair.

Prompt words today are something, browse, revenge, traverse and business.

Lazy April

Then she was so tuckered out that she decided to take a little rest in the hammock.

Lazy April

As the floating clouds of April leave their tracks across the sky,
they keep their rain inside of them. My flower beds are dry.
My characteristic lethargy I fear I’ll have to quell
by getting all the hoses out and turning on the well.
My watering can’s more portable, I could water by hand,
but I am so very lazy, and I fear I’d have to stand
for hours, shedding water everywhere I go.
Watering with a watering can, in short, is way too slow.
I’ll fire up the sprinklers, give the hoses all a jerk
and go back to my hammock and watch them do their work.


The prompts were April, track, characteristic and portable. Here are their links:

Lazy Bones

Lazy Bones

The greater portion of the day
had already passed away
by the time she raised her head
and deigned to quit her lonely bed.
She fed the cat and fed the dog,
then hit the button and fed her blog.
The words poured out like kibble, then
she went back to bed again!
It’s true she is a lazy bones,
ignoring doorbells, texts and phones
until it is her choice to rise
to face the possible surprise
that the night might still present—
wondering where the daylight went.
‘”Here sleeps,” her epitaph  will say,
“one who slept her life away.”

In case you are wondering,

(This is not me. I’m up at eight
to answer pounding on my gate.
It is my alter-ego, perhaps—
that side of me that I let lapse—
that draws me into daylight naps
and tempts me to ignore the phone.
That asks for afternoons alone.)


The prompt today was portion.