Tag Archives: #MVB-PROMPT

“Fancy” For MVB, Jan 14, 2025

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From the excesses of Day of the Dead to ornate expressions of art to a faux-fancy shower knob, “fancy” can be found anywhere!

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That said, there is fancy of a different sort:

A Prick of Fancy

The world I see outside my sill—
the clouds that cover lake and hill,
treetops and vines that seek to fill
every space–both rock and rill,
completing  crevasses until
they’ve rendered empty spaces nil.
These things now serve to fuel my quill.
They are my unguent, band-aid, pill.
They prick my fancy, charge my will.
They level out that long uphill
journey to that final kill
when wan and empty, sore and ill,
I will finally pay life’s bill.

 

For MVB, Fancy

Burnt Toast for MVB, Jan 13, 2025

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Burned Toast and Other Little Lies

A sneeze is how a poltergeist gets outside of you.
At night a different stinky elf sleeps inside each shoe.

Every creaking rafter supports a different ghost,
and it’s little gremlins who make you burn the toast.

Each night those tricky fairies put snarls in your hair,
while pixies in your sock drawer unsort every pair.

Midnight curtain billows are caused by banshee whistles.
Vampires use your toothbrush and put cooties in its bristles.

Truths all come in singles. It’s lies that come in pairs.
That’s a zombie, not a teenager, sneaking up the stairs.

The MVB prompt today was “Toast.”

False Messiahs for MVB, Jan 2, 2025

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False Messiahs

Messages they send out to the world in bottles
(those they think up as they stir their morning cups of chocolate)
—beware their dangers.
These messengers have hands that can slap you awake,
then abandon you as they return to the problems of the privileged rich.
These parasites, dosed with their vitamin B,
ride roughshod over their hosts.

They linger in their beautiful dreams of percentages,
profit on the hunger of the poor.
They see not your skeletons when they look in the mirror.
They do not see the hearts they have broken.
Once, surrounded by the stricken, they put their fingers in their ears
and pretended they were evangelists to the poor.
Then, their illusions shattered by going door-to-door,
they slammed doors shut again.

Their messages in bottles are swift to flow away.
The ocean has no doors to slam in their faces.
And their heads bent in prayer will not open those doors they have closed.
The ballast their bottles carry does no good.
The hunger of the world has no stake in the good books they carry.
The mood of their verses is malevolent. The vows they swear
are words in a wind that has come too late.

For My Vivid Blog the prompt is imposter. Image by Robert Koorenny on Unsplash.

“Born Lazy” for My Vivid Blog, Dec 24, 2024

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Born Lazy

You can have your tennis, your jogging, golf and hiking.
I’d rather spend time coasting while other souls are biking.

You’ll never find my name in the record books of Guinness,
for I don’t excel at basketball or badminton or tennis.

Somehow, nature slighted me when it came to “gameness.”
When asked to participate, I simulate my lameness.

I guess I was born lazy. I simply love my bed.
I pretend not to hear it when the cat yowls to be fed.

When duty calls, I plug my ears and happily roll over.
I find it is more comfortable here in beds of clover.

For My Vivid. Blog, the prompt word is “born.”

Story Songs for MVB, Dec 19, 2024

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 Story Songs

The Andrews Sisters, Les Brown and his Band of Renown, Spike Jones.  These are the only records I can remember from my parents’ collection.  When I got older, I listened to my 4 years older sister’s records: Pat Boone, Elvis–jitterbug music. When I got to record collecting age it was the era of the sad story:  Johnny Get Angry, girls killed in car wrecks, My Boyfriend’s Back (and he’s comin’ after you-ooo.,) Red Roses for a Blue Lady. The songs were narrative and told pretty basic stories of love, death and teenage angst.

I think they did have an effect because I still want a song with a strong narrative.  For this reason I like the Avett Brothers, Gillian Welch, Brett Dennen, Chris Smither, Joe Purdy, Townes Van Zandt, Rickie Lee Jones, Steve Earle, Tom Waits…oh, lots of others–who tell stories and interpret them in their own distinctive way.  I love harmony ala the Andrews Sisters–A modern equivalent is the Wailin’ Jennys. When I was small, in the days before TV, we had an big Victrola cabinet radio/record player that had a record changer so you could put a stack on.  I still associate those songs of the forties and fifties with my parents.

Today’s MVB prompt is song.

‘CHANGE OF MIND” for MVB, Nov 26, 2024

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Relax, it’s only henna! I get a tattoo on my lower leg every time I go to the beach. It fulfills all my contradictory impulses.

                                    Change of Mind

Tattooed pierced and branded, or to be marked for life
with patterns carved into the skin with a sterile knife?
I cannot help but tell you that I find it very strange–
this trend to decorate ourselves by means that we can’t change.

When I was in my twenties, I bought a gorgeous hat
of pink and blue with colored plumes that swayed this way and that.
But what if I had had it sewn forever to my head,
so when I desired a wedding veil, I had feathers instead?

What if those chandelier earrings I found so cool in my teens
were implanted so I couldn’t take them off by any means?
So when I trekked across the jungles, weaving through the trees,
those earrings caught upon the vines and brought me to my knees?

My hair would be a helmet, and my eyes would look so queer
if worn like I did at twenty with eyeliner ear to ear.
So I cannot help but think this child with corks stretching her lobes
might regret them in her forties as she dons her judge’s robes.

Or the youngsters with the tongue studs, one day when they are men
might regret it as the shots they drink leak out onto their chin.
I’m so glad those mini skirts I wore—a poor choice even then––
are not still sewn upon my hips now that I am more Zen.

Thank God those darker outlined colors that made our lips less thin
and those psychedelic tie-dyes are not printed in our skin.
For although our taste was laughable, at least we can repent–
for the choices that we made in youth were not permanent.

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And, that hat mentioned in the poem? It really existed and still does, although no, I have not worn it in over 40 years. Here it is, a side view!

The prompt for My Vivid Blog today is “Mind.” (Hope is is ok that I am rerunning a poem I wrote in 2015. Just seemed appropriate!

Skipped Out, for MVB

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Skipped Out

It was a wretched theory. They postulated that
if we’d all collaborate, we’d lose all of our fat.
They weren’t very subtle. They gave us tubes of stuff
to squeeze over the food we ate, but never quite enough.
We had to buy the second batch, and prices just kept rising,
but we never lost a pound—a result not surprising.
Later, they skipped out of town—an act our friends found funny.
They told us from the first the only thing we’d lose is money!!!

For MVB: Skipped

Knossos Palace in Pompeii, for MVB, Nov 8, 2024

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I’m flashing back in time to my visit to Pompeii with my sister a few years ago. Few other palaces in my life in the past few years!

For My Vivid Blog, the prompt is: Palace.

The Meeting Place, for MVB

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The Meeting Place

What are you waiting for––
divine inspiration?
Do you think Shakespeare waited for his muse?
And if your muse came,
would you even recognize her?
Will she wear long white flowing robes?
Will she play a lute or will your voice
be her instrument?
Will she whisper in your ear or speak to you
though your mind?
And will she be beautiful or will that even matter?
As you age will your muse age with you
or is she perpetually young?
And what about wisdom?
Will it be your own acquired wisdom or hers
that will make your words cut like a knife
though the soft texture of days,
that will give them purpose
when those around you
fail and fall
into the magnetic cloud
of forgetfulness or boredom?
What if as you sit there
waiting for your muse,
watching reality TV
or doing crossword puzzles,
your muse is waiting for you
in the keys of your computer
or in your pen point?
What if she has been lolling all these years
in the pages
of that lined notebook
sitting empty on your shelf?
I keep telling you
that every day I see her
pass behind you
as you pine for her,
always looking
in the opposite
direction.

The MVB PROMPT today is meetings.

“The Silence of the Iambs” for MVB, Oct 18, 2024

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The title, by the way, is talking about iambs, not lambs.  Hard to tell when it is capitalized.

The Silence of the Iambs

Anapests sing lullabies while dactyls gallop on.
Trochees beat a drum beat that’s heard hither and yon,
but raindrops speak in iambs, dripping from the eaves
as the torrent lessens and cups itself in leaves.
All the small feet hushed now, we can fall asleep.
We can find our dreams inside a silence that’s so deep.

 

The loud rhythms of the unseasonal rain that awakened me so early this morning have ceased, leaving only the faint drip of water off the eaves. This poem may be one that only another poet could appreciate, but for those of you who aren’t poets and who didn’t pay attention in your lit class, it is about metrical feet—the syllable rhythms within a poem and even within our everyday speech and nature itself.  A trochee (the rhythm of a native American drumbeat replicated in the poem “Hiawatha”) is an accented or long syllable followed by a short one. An iamb is the rhythm in the English we speak every day––a short syllable followed by a long one. An anapest is the rhythm of a lullaby. (short short long) whereas a dactyl (the rhythm of a horse’s gallop) is its opposite (long short short).

MVB’s prompt for the day is Silence