Tag Archives: poem about excuses

Vindi”cat”ion

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Why I Can’t Do The Prompts Today

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Why I Can’t Do The Prompts Today

I think I’ll be a morning grouch
and spend these hours on the couch
making lists of things for doing—
certain things that involve gluing,
cleaning, sorting, chopping, timing—
things that do not involve rhyming.

A sea of things I’ve been concealing,
chores that stack up to the ceiling,
divert me from acts of creation
with chores of limitless cessation.
Hobbies I’d rather pursue
put off by what I’ve gotta do.

Pay my house fees, cook the stew,
trim the bushes, find the glue
to fix the statue, sort my purse,
clean out the junk drawer, then rehearse
my poems for next Friday’s reading.
Fix my blouse. Restore its beading.

Answer emails, call the plumber.
Modern life is such a bummer.
Sometimes I think I exist
solely to check off a list.
At any rate, as I have ranted,
other parts of me recanted.

It seems I’m such a winsome elf
that this poem just wrote itself!!!!!!

Prompts today are winsome, sea, certain, list, grouch, hobby and concealing.

Obstruction of Poetry (The Wandering Muse)

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Obstruction of Poetry
(The Wandering Muse)

I’ve no wish to obstruct the truth. The fault is purely mine.
The reason why I’m having such a struggle, line by line,
is because my poet muse is taking a vacation,
having lately moved herself to a new location.

She took my genius with her, in spite of friends’ directions
that I should submit her to most vigorous inspections.
In my innocence, I failed, for though I checked her cape,
her briefcase, pockets and her purse, she made her great escape

by smuggling my genius out, displaying her fine wit
by tucking it into a place where I did not find it.
No place could be more obvious, yet I didn’t think to peek
in the place where genius often hides—between the tongue and cheek!

Prompt words are obstruct,  genius, cape, fail, innocent and direct. Image by Natasha Hall on Unsplash.

Poetic License in a Temperate Climate

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Poetic License in a Temperate Climate

December’s moved south of the border where it isn’t so icy and cold,
but still of all of the months of the year, it’s the one where the weather’s most bold.

It’s that time of the year where I profit from staying in bed until nine,
my bed being where I feel warmest—snuggled in blankets, supine.

At seven and eight it is silent, each dog still curled in his bed,
as I burrow into my poem of the day, rousting it out of my head.

It finds a new home on my hard drive, thus quelling my need to relate
as all of my creative juices suddenly seem to abate.

As my poetry swells to fruition, I finally stir from my nest
to dress in my toe socks and leggings, my sweater and wooly warm vest.

A poem survives any weather, surrounded by peers on the screen,
but even in temperate countries, December remains the most mean.

By April, I’ll feel warm and toasty and I’ll need a different reason
for staying in bed until nine when it is such a perfectly temperate season.

 

Yes, it’s true. I even wear them in bed!  Prompt words today are December, profit, silent,
quell and home.

Writer’s Block

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Writer’s Block

Rip up your notebook and throw it away.
At heart, you know you have nothing to say.
The cadre of writers who came on before you
wrote legions of words guaranteed not to bore you.
They composed solid volumes of bountiful wit.
Their number of sales will verify it.
The drivel you write is mere uninspired lore,
so better you read what they wrote than write more.

 

Prompt words today are notebook,solid, bountiful, cadre and number.

Accidental Excuses

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Accidental Excuses

Pointing at the calendar, you voice a guttural moan,
regretting a notation for which you must atone.
It’s time to trim the ivy from the window frames and gutters,
but your reluctance to do so, I can tell from your low mutters.

When our decorous window boxes needed a small touch-up,
you erased the reminder and smugly held your crutch up.
Of course I did the job for you, for it would be abuse
not to take a broken leg as adequate excuse.

But now that you have healed, my dear, it clearly is your turn
to cut back the ivy and to trim the Boston fern.
In spite of your pleading eyes and all your manly charm,
you’ll only avoid this chore if you fall and break an arm!

Prompt words today are guttural, calendar, ivy, decorous and point.
Image by Debb D on Unsplash.

Substitutions

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Substitutions

An open window, an open door
from a block away or more,
may leak a song whose melody
brings forth a long-lost memory.

Its strains may bring a prompt detection
of an overlooked reflection—
that abrupt awareness of
those substitutes for human love.

A cat, a dog, a garden full
of beauty that exerts its pull—
diversions that can take the place
of a well-loved absent face.

So we fill in each empty spot
where each loved-one, alas, is not,
making do with what what’s around—
those near-distractions that we’ve found.

Prompts for today are substitute, abrupt, reflect and music.

I spent all day trying to fight off a migraine. Soon after I woke up I lost half my vision—could only seen the right side of my head by turning my head sideways.  I took a couple of caffeine pills, hoping that it was the beginning of a migraine—fearing the alternative more. My vision eventually came back but a nagging little headache persisted so I took more caffeine, tried to eat around 3 but had terrible indigestion and more of a headache. Finally, I took an Extra-Strength Tylenol along with a Coke, which I knew would give me arm and/or leg cramps, but it was preferable to a full-strength migraine. Went down to the hammock with an audible book so I could close my eyes, Morrie jumped up on my lap and Diego hung his head over the side of the hammock seeking my other hand. I pulled my cowl neck over my head to avoid their stinky bodies and breaths (bath-time is in order) and finally, blessedly, fell asleep. Aroused by a phone call from a good friend, after hanging up, I was seized by a massive foot cramp, got up and stamped it out and came up to the house where the pups and kitties were glad to finally have their meal a few hours late. Not the best day in the world but it brings me to the reason for telling you my woes, other than your sympathy—that being the reason why I haven’t yet written and published my poem for the day. So, finally, at 8 in the evening, here it is.

 

Lack of Willpower During the Coronavirus Sequestering: My First Two Excuses.

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Lack of Willpower During the Coronavirus Sequestering:
My First Two Excuses

I’ ve run out of storage for all the provender
I bought in advance, thinking chances were slender
that in a month there’d be staples enough.
I thought that the going was going to get tough.

So with my freezer full and no cupboard space free,
the only place left to store food in is me.
I forage on fudge and I’m gorging on chips—
storing them here on my waist and my hips.

Please come to my rescue. I’m tortured by guilt.
Last year at this time I was pleasantly built,
but this forced isolation obliterates “no”
as an answer to chocolate and cookie dough.

You may be amused by my failure at coping,
but I am not drinking and I am not doping.
It isn’t my fault. I’m a victim of fate.
It’s my body that’s yearning to assimilate

cookies and candies and pastas and pies.
It’s my body’s fault that I’ve grown a size.
With no one to stop me, I’ve just given in.
I guess you’d describe me as formerly thin!

Words for the day are rescue, torture, obliterate, assimilate and amused.

Why Blog?

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Why Blog?
IMG_7815
If I didn’t have this blog to do, I’d probably wash the dishes
or do the other daily chores that go against my wishes.
I’d have to clean my desk off and put everything away–
tasks that more or less consume the best part of my day.
I might have to mend or clean or sweep or dust or cook.
But mainly, I’d have no excuse for putting off the book
that has been in my computer for a year or more––complete,
waiting for its formatting. Everyone I meet
asks if I have finished it, so I can just repeat
the excuse that’s easier than falling off a log.
“I’d like to but I have no time. I have to write my blog!”

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Million-Dollar Question.” Why Blog?