Tag Archives: #RDP

Home Plate: Sweet Victory

It’s hot summer in the teeming city with tenements piled room-on-room. With narrow hallways and nonexistent grassy plots, where’s  a kid to play?


Home Plate: Sweet Victory

They’re playing baseball in the street again, forcing cars to wait,
restless in the intersection, ’til they see the fate
of the ball the bat just cracked, rising in the air
to land in someone’s flower pot or on the tenement stair.
They make such a brouhaha, loud boys and louder cars,
that Grandma rises up a bit to clutch at window bars.

It is a large commitment, for she can’t sit down again
without some help, but still she is attracted by the din.
Are car horns blaring  for the inconvenience or a homer?
The batter’s mad dash down the street and back a slight misnomer,
for first base is the red car and second base the yellow.
Cross the street and third base is the stair stoop of the fellow

who exits from his doorway, briefcase in his hand,
who seems in a great hurry and yet chooses to stand
to see the runner execute his skipping zigzag run
homeward toward the batter’s plate that holds a sticky bun.
Horns blaring as he executes his mission, ends his flight,
bends over, grabs his trophy, and takes his winning bite!


Prompt words today were play, intersection, commitment and brouhaha.

No Energy

No Energy

When he made his overture on electronic media,
it read as though he’d copied it from an encyclopedia.
Each sentence was incongruous with the one before,
his transitions nonexistent and his details all a bore.
He was indubitably boring, so she gave the guy a miss.
Judging by his message, imagining his kiss.

The prompts today are overture, electric, incongruous and indubitable.


Heavenly Retirement

Heavenly Retirement

She was the center of attention, a magical surprise.
She rivaled Cleopatra both in manner and in guise.
Her courtiers all fumbled in their desire to please her.
Her courters milled and tumbled in their urgent need to squeeze her.
For she knew well the subterfuge of makeup and of dressing
to keep all of her paramours both interested and guessing.

A masterpiece of camouflage, she dressed to win their favor—
the cynosure of attention who changed in age and flavor

from audience to audience—one day serene and regal,
the next day fluffy as whipped cream, appearing barely legal.
She kept admirers captive for so many years
that she outlived all her children and outlived all her peers.

But when at last she succumbed to inevitable fate,
making her grand entrance through that pearly gate,
all the hosts of heaven bowed down to all her glory
having no idea how wrinkled and how gory
she was beneath her raiment and the mask that met their eyes.
It was only the next morning that they saw through her disguise.

For alas, on trips to heaven, carry-ons are not allowed
and responsibility for checked bags disavowed.
So she arrived without her makeup, her wigs and all the stuff
she’d used throughout her lifetime to powder, paint and buff
herself to fine perfection. Without her wigs and clothes,
she had no other choice except to finally disclose

that she was just the girl next door—albeit so much older—
her visage creased and wrinkled, stooped over at the shoulder.
Her breasts were much deflated and her color merely sallow.
Without the false eyelashes, her eyes were strangely shallow.
And as she looked into the mirror, she finally faced the facts.
She could sink into her rocking chair and finally relax!


The prompt words today are fumble, magical, masterpiece and cynosure. Here are the links:




My attempts at active leisure are challenged by the rain,
so it’s possible that I will go back to bed again.
Raindrops slash and pummel. Rain soaks my shoes and hair.
I wouldn’t mind it half so much if I were wash and wear,
but, alas, I crumple up. I languish in the cold.
I’ve a propensity for colds and coughs. My shoes develop mold.
And so with no more ceremony, I’ll remain inside.
When rain seeks my company, I choose to spare my hide.



Trouble Crossing

Trouble Crossing

Fjords, ravines and crevasses are hard enough to cross,
but when it comes to intersections, I am at a loss.
I excel at parallel parking and my merging is just fine,
but when negotiating stop lights, I simply do not shine.

Perhaps it is the colors that I find distracting.
There’s something about yellow that I find too exacting.
Red is most definitive. I know I shouldn’t go.
And green is also clearly meant as a sign to go.

But yellow’s indecisive. Should I go or should I stay?
Should I linger or should I be upon my way?
This solitary factor is what makes me balk.
As a means of transportation, it is true I’d rather walk!!!! 

The prompt words are color, parking, fjord and solitary. Here are the links:


Meters and Rhyme

Meters and Rhyme

I really cannot fathom a routine that involves running.
The meters that I deal with are in rhyming and in punning.
My decision to work out in feet that do not meet the track
stems from going with my talents, not pursuing what I lack.

For me, excessive exercise is simply not the norm.
I don’t have the deportment nor the interest nor the form.
To blog and not to jog is a decision that’s well-founded.
Apparent by my figure, which is plump and amply rounded.

Putting one foot before the other can be done with fingers, too,
for when  I’m forced to run, I find I’m likely to turn blue!
When it comes to exercises that we’re called to face,
every finish line need not be got to by a race.


The prompt words today are plump, routine, fathom and apparent. Here are the links:

A Sedative Soliloquy

A Sedative Soliloquy

He was a jovial companion, but his constant burbling ways
inevitably put folks in a protective daze.
So although I’m sure his ego assured him they were rapt,
in fact it was illusion. All too frequently, they napped.


Prompt words today (actually, yesterday’s as I’m running late) are burble, illusion, jovial and inevitable. Here are the links: