Tag Archives: RDP

Nuclear Winter

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Nuclear Winter

Both winner and loser give voice to their regret,
for in this race to nowhere, there’s nowhere left to get.
Noting the deficiency of all that’s left to win,
they march around in circles, from here to where they’ve been.
Observing all the patterns followed from the start,
the trophy that they’ve won is, alas, a purple heart.

Prompt words today are winner, observe, regret, march, deficiency and nowhere. Image by Sharon Waldron on Unsplash.

Do you find this first comment on my blog ironic? This is a screen shot of my first notification, immediately after posting the above war poem:

Big Rock Candy Mountain

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Big Rock Candy Mountain

Have you heard the allegory of enchanted mountain
with its chocolate boulders and raspberry soda fountain?
Snow on the top is ice cream, but beware, for it’s precipitous
and only accessible to the most felicitous
children who the lessons of politeness have well-learned.
Children who are naughty and selfish will be spurned.
If you think this is impossible and just a silly story,
remember that I told you that it is an allegory.
The wisdom that it teaches is good manners are rewarded,
and though there is no list in life where they are all recorded,
still life tends to give back to us exactly what we give.
If you desire sweet things, that’s what you have to give.

 

Prompt words today are mountain, spontaneous,
allegory, felicitous,  ice and enchanted,

Change of Menu

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Change of Menu

Though my visitor is an excellent cook
who bought a fresh fish right off of the hook,
 he said although sturgeon is usually reliable,
he found that this one was sadly not fryable.

Somehow, its innards were too well united
which meant that the rest of it could not be bited.
The end of the story is simply that
we tossed the fish to the dog and the cat,

got into the car and took a small ride
to purchase burgers with fries on the side.
The irony, though, of our untasted sturgeon
is that my guest was a prominent surgeon!

Prompt words are visitor, united, reliable, cook and prominent, Image by John Cameron on Unsplash.

2022 Fashion

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2022 Fashion

There is a dearth of luxury in fashions of today.
All the garments made of fur have been tucked away.
Zibelline and beaver, chinchilla, mink and fox
hide in the back of closets or in the remnants box.

The most ardent fashionista wears clothes shapeless as kelp.
Shoulder pads and belts and pads do not seem to help.
They walk runways like branches stripped down to their bark:
minimal and twiggy, sparse and wan and stark.

Lace and ruffles banished, hot Goth is all the rage.
Tractor Trek-Sole boots and chunky loafers stalk the stage.
Sweater vests and crop-tops, shabby chic and Y2K
have replaced silks and satins, mohair and chambray.

Power Bohemian florals compete with color clashing
For what the trend-setters of the day find most chic and dashing.
The only good that I can see in these current fashion rages
is that fewer animals are being kept in cages!

Prompt words for today are kelp, ardent, branch, dearth, zibelline, shapeless.

 

Writer Wannabe

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Writer Wannabe

I wish I were prolific and could elevate each word 
from general to specific, to astounding from absurd.
As they are ejected from my fingers or my pen,
I wish that they were more profound, more thoughtful and more Zen.
But, alas, their attributes remain to me mysterious.
They verge on the inane when my intent was to be serious.

 

Prompt words today are prolific, elevate, attribute, eject and mystery.

Memories of Loves Past

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Memories of Loves Past

To improve those ancient feelings regarding love that’s past—
all of those sad endings for love that didn’t last—
relate the facts as comedy. Banter about life’s failings.
Laughter serves you better than retroactive wailings!

Actually, the past love I’m fighting sad feelings about today is the 22 year old Royal Poinciana tree that they are cutting down today. It had root rot and was in danger of falling so it had to be done. So, unbeknownst to me, I gave myself good advice in writing this poem which started out to be about love of another variety.  Here is the tree in all its former glory:

Prompt words today are ancient, improve, feelings, related, banter

.

Beach Morning

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Beach rocks Sherry swam to
A closer view
Sherry nearly to shore
New arrival via raft from one of the offshore yachts. Trying to get free from his flotation device.
Thanks, Mom
Doggie camaraderie.
The beach house
Sunset partiers
Morning visitors.
Our friends’ beach house
Beach decor
Beach walking
Living room
Back patio
Dining room
Front garden of beach house
Poolside visitors
View to the north from “our” deck.
Offshore rocks in zoom.
Sherry’s flipper

Click on photos to enlarge and read captions.

These photos are all out of sequence and Word Press seems to have changed things so I can no longer put them in the order that they occurred. The last photo is of Sherry’s flipper as she swam back to join us at the beach restaurant. I’ve spent two hours trying to get the photos in sequence and another half hour with WP tech help to no avail. If anyone reading this knows of a more writer-friendly platform for blogs, please let me know. So sorry that Word Press is getting progressively more non-cooperative.

Beach Morning

Fear of contact with that first cold wave keeps me lingering in bed this second morning at the beach. I can hear the surf that pounds the beach just ten yards from the garden wall of the house where I am staying for a week with friends. If they manage to rouse me from my warm nest, we’ll probably walk again down the beach to sit at a table at the Playa Azul to await Sherry’s return from her long swim to the offshore island and back. She resists the group swim that will take place later, the participants attached to floats on their backs to ward off overenthusiastic speed boaters  who otherwise might stray too close, forgetful of the fact that other humans traverse these waters unencumbered by craft. It is her opinion that this daily journey is best accomplished in private, face to the water, snorkel fins flopping like friendly pats upon the ocean’s surface, as if to beat a friendly reminder that someone is about to visit.

Every January and February (and sometimes March) for years, I stood in these same waters, closer to shore, doing my thousand exercises while fighting the waves–lifting on their inward journey to land, feet settling again to sand on their outward pull back out to sea. Having nearly drowned once long before while Kayaking the Rogue River in Oregon, I preferred water with the security of a firm surface under my feet, even if it was just at intervals.  What snorkeling adventures I have participated in since that near-fatal water adventure have included a boat within swimming distance, and so sitting here with longtime friends, discussing past adventures and writing and those other beach visitors that walk past us on the beach, I can’t help but keep an eye peeled for a view of Sherry’s flippers, flopping into view a mile or so away across the water, circling the small island, moving away from the sailboat that veers in her direction.

She will return to land, removing her false frog feet, shaking water from her second skin, to join us for coffee and hotcakes and eggs, chilaquiles or breakfast burritos, orange juice and papaya. Joined together again in the most communal of activities–a shared meal–we will again be united by those activities we share: laughter, tall tales, plans for the day, watching beach dogs, memories of past camaraderie, shared absent friends, plans for the rest of the day. This vacation at the beach after two years’ absence is a balm that soothes my soul and makes me thankful for this day, in spite of the future that might await us due to those others who guide the fate of the world. This day, this hour, the minute behind us and those long minutes in front of us are ones of our own making, and they are perfect.

Prompt words today are fear, opinion, forgetful and cold wave.

Vernacular Confusion

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Vernacular Confusion

When he says I have puissance he means I have power.
Why must he go on like this, hour after hour?
I don’t understand his schoolbook French.
In Yiddish, I cannot tell shiksa from mensch.
I fumble with Spanish and flunked at Italian.
An onion’s an onion. When you call it scallion,
it’s all Greek to me and I don’t have the energy
to combine languages. What’s with this synergy
that creates Tex Mex, Pig Latin and Spanglish?
I have enough problems just pronouncing Anglish.
I don’t catch your meaning when you say “Que tal?”
This method of talking means nothing at all
to one not versed in languages. So, when you call,
please don’t say,”Salut!” Just say, “Howdy, y’all!”

Prompt words today are fumble, synergy, catch, puissance and method.

The Proposal

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The Proposal

Under the star-spangled night I espy
a woman in love and her regular guy.
He has resolved it’s the night to propose,
and safe in his pocket’s the ring that he chose,
but her physical closeness so comfortably huddled
close up to his side has him slightly befuddled.
What if he was swindled and the diamond’s not real?
It was such a big stone and such a good deal!

He fingers the box and tries to decide
how best to convince this girl at his side
to accept his offer to become his bride.
He swears to the heavens, so splendid and wide
that he’ll do his best to furnish a life
befitting the one that he makes his wife.
Then his nervousness done, he falls on one knee,
to turn his whole life from “I” into “We.”

Word prompts for the day are star-spangled, resolve, swindle, espy and physical.Image by Trevin Rudy on Unsplash.

Fruitless Efforts

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Fruitless Efforts

I know what they say because I’ve heard the buzz.
My profile, alas, is not what it was.
But the fact that some parts of me have required
more helpful support as they have retired

does not negate the simple true fact
that all my former charms are intact.
They shifted location against my behest. 
My breasts have moved south, my hips east and west,

and my upper arms have chosen to rest
in regions below where they’ve deemed that it’s best
to hang in their hammocks without so much tension
as when they were forced to remain at attention.

Some women thirst for their trim bods of yore,
but frankly, I find their efforts a bore.
Whether they seek them by suction or scalpel,
by fairy wand, prayer or by decree Papal,

it doesn’t seem worth it for when they get fit,
what are they going to accomplish by it?
For though they are going to look mighty fine,
what lovers are left by the age 89?

 

Prompt words are tired, wand, thirst, negate and profile.