Missed Americas
Now that they are runway-bound,
those extravagantly gowned
are oft-driven to expound
with words not overly profound
about beliefs they’ve newly found
(overheard and swiftly downed)
just because they love the sound,
hoping in the final round,
their golden tongues will get them crowned.
For the dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge: Crown.
Image from BBC.
Bake-Off
“Spot on!” she said and doffed her hat and focused on her goal.
The loss of her attention was sure to take its toll
at this phase of her endeavor, so, intent upon her role,
she broke another egg into the center of the bowl
where the flour and the sugar had formed a sort of hole,
whipped it until frothy and then began to roll
wet and dry together to form a small atoll,
then folded it all over to form a solid whole.
She took so naturally to baking that the process soothed her soul,
and the brilliance of her artistry, the whole world did extoll.
If her genius were a recipe, yeast would have been its soul.
Prompt words today are loss, spot, naturally, phase and focus.
The Rear Admiral Earns His Title
The ensign and Rear Admiral, together in a boat,
after their ship’s sinking, the only ones afloat,
were trying to determine what caused their craft to sink,
dumping them at midnight from their sleep into the drink.
“Who’s at fault?” they speculated.
What misdeed had instigated
this horrific interlude
that left them soaked and nearly nude?
What meeting could be worse?
Could any tryst be more adverse?
And thus they squandered precious time
in expostulations and in mime
when they could have better plotted
in the time they were allotted
how to get out of this mess,
for it’s true, I must confess
that the boat they were in now
had a knothole in the bow
and as they fussed and fretted,
their feet and then their legs were wetted
by seawater seeping in
that was soon up to their chin,
and of the highest and the lowest
the one who turned out to be slowest
was cast out upon the sea,
claiming his priority,
while the one who was most rapid,
keen of eye and much less vapid,
grabbed the only life vest there
where there should have been a pair,
and shifted into his high gear
leaving the admiral in the rear.
Prompts for today are: meeting, squander, instigate, ensign and fault.
Prediction
In the family photo, Auntie stands with arms akimbo,
glancing over sideways at my cousin’s latest bimbo.
One cultured eyebrow raised and her disgust so thinly veiled,
there’d probably be a small explosion if only she exhaled.
Uncle’s blind to everything and stands with grin on face,
unmindful of his youngest son’s ultimate disgrace.
He has had a little turkey and a great amount of wine
and thinks his son’s new girlfriend is exceptionally fine.
My cousin looks besotted and the girl looks fine to me,
though she wears a lot of makeup and shows a lot of knee.
But if my cousin marries her, I’m sure it will be fine.
With Auntie as her drill sergeant, she’ll soon fall into line.
She’ll polish and distill her ’til the flavor is all gone,
bleed out all her color ’til she’s fashionably wan.
Then, just like Uncle Marty, Cousin Jeb will start to stray,
looking for fresh pastures when the old one turns to hay.
Prompts today are akimbo, everything, culture, veiled and uncle. Disclaimer: the real lady attached to these legs and shoes is anything but a bimbo–a smart, cool lady. Photo is for illustration purposes only.
Expiration Date
Love is a narcotic that makes us think we’re wise-—
nature’s slick conspiracy for matching girls and guys.
It hangs around in barrooms, obscured in eyes and talk,
and before you know it, it makes you walk the walk
down rose-petaled aisles on your way to say “I do,”
in something new or borrowed and something old and blue.
Then love becomes a train wreck, beginning with the pastor
and continuing through daily life until the last disaster
when “I do” becomes “I won’t,” and all love’s vows once-spoken
wind up in love’s dump heap—abandoned, crushed and broken.
Blame it all on Cupid, that chubby little liar,
who never warns us that our love is likely to expire.
Prompt words for today are conspiracy, guys, narcotic, wreck and talk. Image by Niki Sanders on Unsplash.
Wild Turkey
Grandpa’s going ballistic, because in place of turkey,
my vegetarian sister is serving us tofurkey!
Grandma lost her lower plate, her jaw dropped down so far
when Sis brought in cranberries served from their store-bought jar.
All the usual “ooohs” and “aahs” were just replaced with sighs.
Milk-and-butterless potatoes and no whipped cream on the pies?
The food that we partook of was devoid of any beast.
Only plants were massacred to engineer our feast.
It was mayhem at the table and I flinched from the barrage
of complaints when all my family’s men took off for the garage
to imbibe in liquid turkey of their own variety,
“Wild Turkey” likely being the only bird they’d see.
Sis smacked her lips with relish and devoured the whole meal,
it being most unlikely that the rest of us would steal
even a single morsel. We’d already made our plans
to hop into our Hondas, our Buicks and our vans
and all stop by for pizza and some ice cream as a way
for us to put Thanksgiving back into our day.
Meanwhile, in the dining room, Auntie popped a cork,
declaring that next year she’d cook, and she’d be serving pork!!!
Prompt words for the day are chorus, mayhem, tofurkey,cork and garage.
Holiday Reprieve
Do you approach with trepidation
all this Christmas titillation?
When all its plans start to congeal—
the presents, decorations, meal,
all the usual preparations
and the usual perturbations—
perhaps you need to curb frustration
by taking off on a vacation.
Life is short. Don’t hesitate
if you’ve no wish to celebrate.
So much of Christmas’s elation
is a mere regurgitation
of the things, year after year,
we’ve done to try to raise some cheer.
If neither presents opened nor
those Yule carolers at your door
bring you peace and joy and cheer
even at this time of year,
more ways than one to cook a goose.
Open the cage and let him loose,
then pack a bag and take off, too,
to Zanzibar or Katmandu.
Go find a place that is less spangled,
simpler and less Xmas-angled.
Go examine life’s ecologies,
and I’ll make your apologies.
Prompts today are life, congeal, usual, trepidation and celebrate.
I’m sure you want to see all this clutter close up. To do so, click on photos and arrows!! Does anyone need a never-used reverse osmosis system?
Helpers Needed to Organize Studio and Garage!!!
Rummage, rummage, mutter, mutter,
being buried by my clutter.
Do you know some agile sorters
who can straighten out my quarters?
I need helpers on the ball
who can divide and sort it all.
And before I ossify,
I’ll sit here and just bossify!!!
I really do have an organization scheme for my art studio, but this couple of years of frenetic activity there during Covid and to get ready for my November show have made me pull things out of storage–and once things are put back into their accustomed space, I somehow need to find more space there . And, need to get the lamps rewired and out of there!
My garage looks organized, but I have teaching files in there from 1971-1981 (when I quit teaching) and my Dad’s ranch records and tax returns from the 1950’s through 1974, when he passed away. Also, every letter anyone has ever sent me and every note passed to me in high school, along with class notes from college classes. How can I throw them away? What if the minute I do, I need them? All of those fruit crates need to be broken down into slats to wait for Covid to ease so I can use them in art projects with the kids. Too much, too many. I know.
Prompt words today are clutter, recommend, agile, ossify and ball.
Feeling grungy, out-of-tempo, out-of-sorts and kinda mean.
Need a new Thanksgiving turkey, ‘cuz last year’s is turning green.
Can’t avouch for what would happen if I tried to serve it now,
but perhaps I’ll scrape the mold off and try to serve it anyhow?
Come to think, it’s penicillin, so how dangerous can it be?
It might just be beneficial, so let’s try it and we can see.
I’ll whip up some new potatoes, open cans of cranberries.
Don’t forget to bring the pies. I await your RSVP’s!!!!
The Rocky Road to Maturity
A state of ataraxia is simply not the norm
when a particular condition has taken you by storm.
It makes you feel ungainly and your customary grace
seems to gather syllables and turn into disgrace.
Moodiness and hormones and pimples and the rest
of the ills that mark this state don’t put you at your best,
and there’s a bigger problem once you survive your pubescence,
for it is just a prelude to the state of adolescence!
Word prompts today are customary, ungainly, prelude, ataraxia (tranquility) and particular.
