Tag Archives: #MVB-PROMPT

Heaven and Hell’s Kitchen

Heaven and Hell’s Kitchen

Unearthly nutrition is on its last legs.
How often have you been served deviled eggs?
Ambrosia they say was the food of the gods,
but to be served it now? Just what are the odds?
And only when faith causes us to unleaven
are we ever gifted with mana from heaven.
Heavenly hash and devil’s food cake
are dishes that only a cougar would make
to lure her young lover into her lair.
Wherein she’d seduce him with her angel hair
pasta to help him to bolster his energy—
her clever plot to improve their synergy!
But, if you’d like to start a new trend, 
by reprising old recipes, then read on, friend.
A *karma cocktail or a **devil’s brew?
Now and then it won’t hurt you to have one or two.

*A karma cocktail is made with Captain Morgan Spiced Rum, Triple Sec, Orange Juice, and Lemon Lime Soda!

To make a**devil’s brew : In a shaking glass, add vodka, triple sec, melon liqueur, peach schnapps and lime juice. Shake well. 3. Gently add ice to serving glass and strain mix over before layering ever clear on top and lighting.
Prompt words today are unearthly, nutrition, cougar, rally and clever.

Halo, Everybody

“Halo everybody, Halo. Halo is the shampoo that glorifies your hair, so Halo everybody, Halo!”  The remnants that dangle on the edge of memory when I awaken from a barely-accessible dream are not ones that my conscious mind sees fit to shove to the front of the crowd of past retorts, compliments, taunts, scraps of poetry, lines from old movies and musical ditties that  upon occasion drift across it, but when the word “halo” is also repeated as a prompt in the first blog I look up to gather my prompts for the day’s poem, it seems too much of a coincidence to be coincidence.

This terrific Internet roadway that has led me to a worldwide circle of friends, combined with the scrap of memory from my dream, has led me backwards in time to an early morning seventy years before. My dad is long gone, out to feed the cattle or survey the wheat crop, my older sisters have vanished across the street to their classrooms at the first pealing of the school bell, my mother sits in my dad’s deserted rocker with coffee, toast and the morning paper, and I lie on my stomach in front of the Victrola, switching on the radio.

It is that time of the morning when Mother and I are content to let the morning languish away for awhile. It is a terrific time of freedom for my mother, who often insists she is lazy at heart but who in fact makes sure there is always a meal on the table, skirts hemmed, sheets ironed, Christmas presents piled under the tree in time for them to be admired for a week or more before Christmas, Easter eggs hidden just carefully enough in nests that peek out a tiny bit from beside the sofa or the bottom edge of the curtain.

And for me, it is a time when I have total control over what station the radio in our console record player/radio will be tuned to. Every morning, the Halo Shampoo song issues cheerily out into the morning air and already, in the dawn of media commercials, I have been influenced by what I hear. I have persuaded my mother  to invest in our first bottle of Halo shampoo, and although I am five now and old enough to know the difference between metaphor and truth, still some part of me imagines the halo that will waft lightly over my head next Sunday as I flip my hair at the corner before setting out to cross the one street between our house and the Methodist Church. God will know the difference, I am sure, and at lunch after Church, when Mother serves Devil’s Food Cake, I have convinced myself that the former will surely cancel out the latter.

Prompt words today are halo, terrific, worldwide, languish, accessible and dangling.

Sad Movies

Sad Movies

I’m tired of contrary comments made about my hobby.
It’s my business if I spend my life all sad and sobby.

You think an action movie is what it’s all about
but that it is unusual to let emotions out

exorcising lost love and other sorts of woe
by exercising empathy in a picture show?

Give me a good sad movie that prompts my sobs and tears.
Better than holding  all of your emotion in arrears,

then lashing out at cohorts with more violent means of censure
or expressing it vicariously watching action adventure.


Word prompts today are unusual, contrary, better, comments and hobby.



Mankind has been no bargain. They’ve scorched the living earth,
determined to exploit it to improve their worth.
Bargaining for diamonds, drilling for fossil fuels—
with each new excavation, proving they are fools.

They release noxious gases into the atmosphere,
and with each new admonition, shift to a higher gear.
Who will console our children as they forge ahead
following our example after we are dead?

We leave them with a dying world, and who is to blame?
First, off, those politicians who see it as a game
to increase their power in spite of consequences,
building up their war toys, strengthening defenses.

Extending greedy fingers, needing ever more.
Selling off our future, profiting from war.
While the wise men warn us, who in power listens?
Too busy filling pockets with everything that glistens.


Prompt words today are: fossil, scorch, gas, console, example and bargain.

Birth of a Couch Potato

Birth of a Couch Potato

The crush of humanity, swell of the crowd,
demands a new edict. No  pushing allowed.
Thus turning the scene a tad melancholy,
whereas in the past it had been pretty jolly.

The policy depended, primarily, on shaming
certain well-known revelers I won’t be naming,
by branding them careless , ill-mannered and rude
and other crass labels that I won’t include.

Suffice it to say that this official labeling
contributed much to their social disabling.
Now they sit home getting flaccid and flabby,
watching old episodes of Downton Abbey.


Prompts for today are crush, swell, shaming, flabby, policy and melancholy .
Image by Eric Mclean on Unsplash

Future Shock

Future Shock

On our way to maturation, when we’re adult-bound,
childhood’s denizens are most likely to astound.
Expressing new insights, they make statements bound to shock
that upon close scrutiny, their elders choose to mock.
Patterns of behavior that they, too, exhibited,
glorying in actions their elders once prohibited.
Thus does every generation choose to shock the last
as their predecessors fade into the past.
Time is a marsh that buries memories of old
as each new wave of humans discovers acts more bold.


Prompt words today are patterns, insight, scrutiny, marsh, childhood. Images by Tamara Bellis and Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash.

Tourist Trap

Tourist Trap

“Any gremlins hereabout?” a tiny woman queried,
inspecting piles of autumn leaves for any bodies buried.
I’d feared she was a tenderfoot when she had signed up
for this Halloween adventure, but I evilly quipped, “Yup.”
Every freckle popped out as her face blanched to pure white
and her muscles tensed up to prepare for fight or flight.
She surveyed every shadow on the path that led us up
to the haunted mansion where the group of us would sup.
The scene was dark and moonlit and the shadows all reached out.
A most effective scary atmosphere, without a doubt.
The spooky creaking of the door as we reached the house
was echoed by the squeaking of every resident mouse.
The furniture was draped with ghostly sheets covered with dust,
and every metal object wore a crumbling scab of rust.
Eerie portraits on the wall. Thick drapery that soon
we’d draw back so the diners could view a harvest moon
as they supped on boiling cauldrons of steaming witches’ stew
and rich red wine in lieu of blood would simply have to do.
What is it about Halloween that makes folks crave a scare
so much that they would pay us to bring them to this lair?
Mortals are so gullible, and now the time draws near
when they’ll become the spirits who’ll conduct the tour next year!


Prompts today are tenderfoot, scene, gremlin, hereabouts, freckle and furniture. The photo is of the Lord Crewe Arms in Scotland, an abbey built in the 12th century and later turned into a hotel. My mother and I slept in its haunted room overlooking the graveyard in 1985. If you want to hear what happened, go HERE.

Bride’s First Meal

Bride’s First Meal

It was a layered casserole of maize and squash and beans
whose contents were indigenous and well within her means.
She blanched and drained and layered in a metal pan.
She followed all directions and plotted out each plan.

Dabbing on her favorite essence, she donned his favorite dress.
With the front door open, she didn’t have to guess
when he was walking up the lane and so she would be able
to greet him with a soulful kiss and dinner on the table.

But, her first endeavor which she’d hoped would be delicious,
in fact was not ambrosial, but instead pernicious.
It seemed as though the entire dish might be having troubles
as it rose above its boundaries with ominous pops and bubbles.

In short,

These were the things that went amiss
after his entrance and their kiss.
She rued the day that dish was born.

The squash was tough, as was the corn.

Instead they went to Burger King
and ordered one of everything,
came on home and gorged on it,
so their first meal was quite a hit.

She pitched her failed attempt within
a nearby waiting rubbish bin.
She was smart and so good looking.

He didn’t wed her for her cooking.


Prompt words today are ambrosial, endeavor, indigenous, essence, metal and lane.

The Waystation

The Waystation

Awakening in the half light, upon investigation,
I find the sun is still in early stages of gestation.
As the day swells out her stomach from its early morn enclosure,
her womb is still half empty, eschewing full disclosure,

I sink into my pillow and wait for the full light,
held prisoner by the darkness, promised freedom by the light.
One part pulled by sleep, the other rues this hesitation,
caught here once again within the dawning day’s waystation.


Prompt words today are half light, eschewstomach and investigation.

Familial Disapproval

Familial Disapproval

When he swears when the champagne cork hits him in the eye,
my brother’s new fiancee utters a “My, my!”
then swipes the bubbles from her upper lip with  polite tongue.
(She’s squeamish about swear words and she calls the cork a “bung.”)

Her brow furls with referrals to anything unsavory.
(She prefers her history minus genocide or slavery.)
“If you can’t say something good, then don’t say anything at all.”
she says, and then says little but “Oh, really?” and “Y’all!!!”

She’s a proper southern girl with mild disposition.
She would not think to put you out or cause an imposition,
yet when I ask if she is hungry, she admits, “Yes, just a bit,”
and when I put the tea cake out, she eats three-fourths of it!

She never wastes her precious time when visiting by sitting
and conversing with the family. Instead, she brings her knitting,
and bottom lip between her teeth, she counts her knit and pearling.
concentrating on her knitting needles’ rhythmic twirling. 

You might surmise she’s not my favorite, or second, third or fourth
girlfriend he has brought home from East and West and North.
This Southern girl sticks in my craw, I just cannot get used to her.
And you can bet I’m dreading the day my bro’ gets fused to her.

Prompt words on this Solstice morning are: hunger, disposition, squeamish, bung, referral and knitting.