Tag Archives: poem about blogging

Credo

4 Replies

Credo

It’s the opposite of sinecure, this writing of a blog,
but it’s my distinctive effort and my chosen cog
infrangible and constant in the spinning wheel of life,
it is my way to join the world with minimum pain and strife.

There may be repercussions, for you may not agree.
You may not shelter thoughts that coincide with me.
For sure, great fame and fortune are not slated to be mine,
but spending hours a day at this seems to suit me fine!!!!


That’s Ollie and Roo, a few years ago. They thought I didn’t know they were hanging out back there until I pulled the computer screen down to see why it was shaking back and forth as they wrestled.

This time I did something different and wrote a line in sequence for each prompt word before seeing any of the other prompt words. It is a fun game. I challenge you to do the same and link to this blog. The best way to do this is to favorite the six websites below. They all give daily words and you can click on the site, establish the link, write the line and go on to the next. It’s easier than you think once you establish the favorites. Or, just use the words below but look at one at a time and write your line before looking at the next. With my memory, it is easy. I could write down all six and look at the first and immediately forget the others if I don’t concentrate on them.

Prompts for the day are sinecure, distinctive, infrangible, repercussion, shelter and fame.

Visiting Mom in Jail

15 Replies

 

(Click on photos to enlarge.)

Coco has a new bad habit of reclining on the terrace table. As I was getting ready to do this prompt, I decided to try to incorporate her into the poem, using these photos as a further prompt.

Visiting Mom in Jail

If it were up to me, we’d both be off and hiking,
but as you can see, this is not to her liking.
You are instrumental for the reason she is balking,
for Instead of hiking, her fingers do the walking.

Clearly, I don’t fancy this. I see no plusses to it.
I denounce this action and I’ll tell you why I rue it.
My phrases you’ll find piquant . They’ll clearly break your heart.
But when they come to moving her, they will not make a start.

As you can see from shots above, they keep Mom behind bars
and only let her out at night to swim beneath the stars.
We feel so sorry for her that when she goes in to bed,
we all stream in behind her and cluster ’round her head.

We’re sure she craves as company the doggies she adores,
though she complains that Zoe farts and brother Morrie snores.
As for me, I lick her face and hands and arms and neck.
She says she does not like it, but I just think, “What the heck?”

As long as we are all on the same side of the bars,
we need to reassure her we consider her as ours.
Meanwhile, in the daytime when we clearly are not able,
I’ll stay as close as I can be by lying on the table!!!

Prompts today are denounce, fancy, plus, piquant, hike and instrumental.

Internet Appetizers

16 Replies

DSC02137 - Version 2


Internet Appetizers

Casting our nets wider,
we gather matching minds and hearts
like small silver fish–
just a tiny bite, each one,
trying to fill a big appetite.
No big fish
to struggle to land.
Just nibbles,
one after another,
taking the edge off our hungers.

For dVerse Poets “Connections” prompt.

Five Little Words

33 Replies

IMG_6044

Today’s post is dedicated to all of you who labor every day to post your prompts and to read our responses. You and your predecessors have been my motivation for seven years now, every day, and I have probably rarely thanked you, so for Ragtag Daily Prompt, Fandango, Your Daily Word, Word of the day and The Daily Spur, this one is for you. And Ragtag, your prompt today wasn’t meant to be taken personally, right?

Prompt words today are windbag, (Hope this one isn’t personal,) begrudge, futile, inspire and ease.

Five Little Words

Lest you think I’m a windbag and lest you begrudge
my words meant for chuckles, to inspire or nudge
for social reform and for giving the boot
to public servants who pillage and loot
our public coffers and fill up their pockets
with money or spend it on guns, walls and rockets.

Better the money be spent on our own
in stead of a POTUS who sits on his throne
dreaming of golf games and bragging of pussies,
berating mask-wearers as alarmists and wussies.
OK see how I’m off on a whim or a breeze,
raving again with remarkable ease?

I can’t seem to stop, even though I’m retired.
I simply can’t shut off the words when inspired.
So long as the world is so stupid and brutal,
efforts to stifle my words would be futile.
Just five daily words will inspire the rest.
I write all the others at their behest.

Bloggers

5 Replies

IMG_3606

Bloggers

The world is awakening. See? One-by-one
they enter the blog world to share in the fun—
all the day long, until they are done.
Then with the day’s passing and the death of the sun,
in the hours after midnight, it seems there are none.

Storage

14 Replies

IMG_0493
Storage

I’m not your typical hoarder. I don’t save balls of string.
Five foot stacks of newspapers really aren’t my thing.
Boxes of garage sale items do not line my halls.
Jumbles of castoff treasures do not obscure my walls.

My collection is more upbeat and easier to store.
I have thousands of them and room for plenty more.
And lest you think my hoarding is of objects more absurd,
I’ll tell you my obsession is simply for the “word.”

Those who have collected them all throughout the ages
are lexicographers and scribes, poets, writers, sages.
Sometimes they swirl around my head and leave it in a fog,
so when I run out of room, I store them in this blog.

Words like ships floating around, looking for a moorage—
I simply help them out by arranging for their storage.

 

Got a bit mixed up with my prompts today and used two from yesterday, so here is another poem with additional prompts from today: jumble and upbeat.

Bloggers

5 Replies

And no fair switching to your other keyboard!!!

 

 

 

 


Bloggers

We volley bandishments about, exchanging back and forth
words sent on the Internet from east, west, south and north.
We cajole and we wheedle as we trade behests.
From district one to district two, we answer all requests.
Janet wants a recipe that Dolly can provide.
Lydia posts Trump travesties that she cannot abide.

Angloswiss , VJ and Cee and Bob from far Australia,
trading photographs of houses, flowers and regalia.
Fashion blogs and flower blogs and fantasy and news.
We write of  our journeys, our fetes and family dos.
Poems about our handbags, our fashion and our shoes,
answering each other’s queries, cancelling each other’s blues.

Derrick tells of travels and the highlights of his dinners.
Regina writes of travel life and family and sinners.
We all have our favorite schticks from India to Nome.
Marilyn writes of birds and dogs and Manja writes of Rome.
Me? I merely write the poems that the prompts demand,
and be they dumb or heart-wrenching, pedestrian or grand,
abject apologies offered if you find them bland.

Prompt words today were shoe, district, volley and abject.
There were a dozen other bloggers I would have liked to include, but I had to be ready and on the road by 9 this morning so I was rushed in getting this out. To all the other blogs I regularly follow, you know who you are.

In Retirement: (for dVerse Poets Pub Talk)

1 Reply

 

In Retirement

I lie in bed, flat on my back, head raised by pillows,
computer raised to eye level
by a wadded comforter over bent knees.
I listen to raised voices in the village down below,
the staccato of an inadequately mufflered car revving up,
a hammer falling on wood, birds in the coco  palms.
A pianissimo chorus of dogs spread
over the surrounding hills swells to a frenzied crescendo,
then falls silent but will swell again.

I have dropped obligations
like clothes shed for a lover.
My Saturday morning pool aerobics and zumba,
I slipped out of years ago.
Group luncheons hang from doorknobs and chair backs.
Committee meetings lie sloppily abandoned in the hall.

I have retired from the running of the world
to run my own small universe on paper.
Saturday morning is my brainstorm session
with “Me,” “Myself” and “I.”
“I” suggested feeding the dogs,
but they are quiet now, so
“Me” suggested we let them lie.
“Myself” laid out some words to dry
in the heat of the fire of our communal
inspiration, laying them smoothly on the page,
rumpling up others in her fist to send them sailing
to join the crumpled singles event invitations in the corner.

This slow Saturday morning dressing of pages
and stripping them bare
is a sort of ceremony celebrating seizing time
and making it my own.
Pages  fill up with passion, angst, anger,
irritation, joy, laughter, camaraderie.
There is more than one word for each.

Imagine such control over your world–
not having to live the world of any other.
If you could have any life you wish?
Imagine a Saturday morning  building it.

For dVerse Poets Pub Talk

Bogged Down in Blog

6 Replies

IMG_6766

Internet Infraction: Bogged Down in Blog

The only way I’d ever stop
is flagged down by a cyber cop
who says my blogging cannot last
if I continue to go so fast.
He’d give a lecture and a ticket
and then he’d actually stick it
across my screen with strict instruction
to cease this method of destruction.

If life had meant us to go on line
hour after hour––eight or nine
hours or more day after day,
with always one more thing to say,
why would it give us legs to go
and feet to walk on, heel to toe?

Day after day, it’s grown obscene––
my eyes plastered upon my screen,
my fingers stiff with my attention
over what I might next mention––
fingers drumming, tapping, bending
all the while sending sending––
typing out, first fast then slow
my life as a reality show.

Until I wonder if I log
its details daily on my blog
because I want to recall life––
its joys and sorrows, pleasures, strife––
or do I only move about
to give me something to write about???

My friends all say this can’t go on.
I’m growing flaccid, weak and wan.
I need some exercise and sun––
some movies, dancing or other fun
aside from snapping pictures of
each bougainvillea or mourning dove.

Life’s meant to live, not to record.
It should be shouted, screamed or roared––
not typed out softly on the keys
of a laptop spread out on my knees!
The truth of this I’ve clearly seen
now that this sticker obscures my screen.
“Do not remove” it clearly reads,
“Go live your life! Go do some deeds!”

I’ll put on sneakers and do some laps.
I’ll exercise ‘til I collapse,
then do more laps around the pool
‘til I’m an exercising fool.
I’ll call twelve friends up on the phone.
I’ll never ever be alone.
I’ll live my life until its end
without a single blogging friend!

My dedication will never lapse;
and yet, how temptingly it gaps–
that sticker, unstuck at its edge
so easy now to pick and wedge
my fingernail beneath and tug,
to drop its shreds upon the rug
and free my screen of its obstruction––
this taboo not of my construction.

To push the button, light up the screen––
to see its colors from red to green.
Black words on white, Cee’s daily flower––
no longer do I pine and cower.
I peck the keys, upload some pics––
once more getting my daily fix.
The truth of modern life leaks in.
To blog is not a major sin!
I’ll give up blogging, become a rover
precisely when Hell freezes over!!!

DSC06649

Daily Inkling’s prompt is: 

Has technology affected your ability to communicate with other people? If so, to what extent, and are there any examples of when it affected you for better or worse? (I confess, I wrote this poem three years ago but it meets this prompt so well that I’m going to subject you to it again, if you’ve been around this blog for that long.)

Here’s the link: https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/23/social-outage-daily-inkling/

Compulsion to Rhyme II

14 Replies

 

Compulsion to Rhyme II

By now you’ve read my oeuvre once or twice before.
It’s bulging out of file cases, stacked upon the floor.
It’s quickly filling up my blog and straying to the media.
Soon I fear I must compose my own encyclopedia.
It started out a habit but soon became compulsion.
My housecleaner surveys my poems with undisguised revulsion.
Spiders live within the files, cats use them for their beds,
so they serve grander purposes than cluttering up heads.
Perhaps someone could stop me with a cudgel or a gun,
but lacking that, I fear that when my final poem is done,
my heirs will have to market my oeuvre by the ton.

 

The prompt today was oeuvre. In case you’ve never encountered the word without its buddies hors and d’,  used alone, oeuvre means the works of a painter, composer or author, regarded collectively.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/08/29/wednesday-prompt-oeuvre/