Tag Archives: SoCS

Betty Botter, for SOCS

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Image by Dan Dennis on Unsplash

The SOCS prompt is: batter/better/bitter/butter and although I know it
breaks the rules, I can’t resist reciting an old childhood tongue-twister:

Betty Botter bought a bit of bitter butter.
“But,” she said, “this butter’s bitter.
I can’t put it in my batter, 
for if I put it in my batter,
it will make my batter bitter,
but if I buy some better butter,
it will make my batter better!”
So Betty Botter bought a bit of better butter
and made her batter better.

“The Usual Stuff” for SOCS

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The Usual Stuff

I’ve had enough
of the usual stuff––
wars, tsunamis
murdered mommies
global warming
cancers forming
mad religions and heretics
engineering our genetics
drug cartels
emptying wells
mounting debt
nuclear threat

I hate to say it
but every day it
is getting worse
this global curse
Presidents who line their pockets,
turning food stamps into rockets
and human capers
in all the papers
so all in all
it’s an easy call
I find less friction
in reading fiction!

The SOCS prompt is “Usual.”

Popsicles and Tuberoses for SOCS

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Popsicles and Tuberoses

A fresh whiff of jasmine on the evening breeze
sends me off in paroxysms—sneeze on sneeze on sneeze.
Lilacs give me headaches, tuberoses make me ill.
Whenever dates wear aftershave, I have to take a pill.

Pinesol makes me nauseous. I’d rather smell the dirt!
And please do not use fabric softener on my favorite shirt.
I can’t believe so many folks enjoy a scented candle,
for they’re another stinky thing I simply cannot handle.

When friends bring friends to visit me, they eschew scented lotions
and tell their friends to do the same, ‘cause I have these strange notions.
What I like to smell is dill, and soil soaked by rain.
The kind of things I like to smell I’m hard-pressed to explain.

Who likes the scent of curry or cabbage in the hall?
But I admit, I like them! They don’t bother me at all.
I love the smell of Popsicles—my favorite is cherry.
It’s floral scents that I abhor, so weddings make me wary.

I hug the bride and kiss the groom, contribute to her trousseau.
But I must always hold my nose and hurry as I do so.
Orange blossoms are the worst, along with the carnation.
Even roses, I admit, are an abomination!

I really do like flowers, but only how they look.
My favorite kinds of odors are kinds that you can cook!
Chocolate cake or popcorn and hot dogs on the grill
are smells that inspire ecstasy—that certain little thrill.

Vanilla poured in pudding, bananas mashed for bread—
swirl around my nostrils and end up in my head.
Such romantic odors. What stories they do tell
of culinary orgasms and itchings they will quell.

So if you want to pleasure me, please, for heaven’s sake,
leave the flowers at the shop and simply bring me cake!

 

For SOCS  the prompt is pop.

One is Company, Two’s a Crowd, for SOCS

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One is Company, Two’s a Crowd

I have no need for company. I’ll make it on my own.
Most anything that two can do, I can do alone.
I am no Santa Claus who needs assistance of an elf.
All tasks that need doing, I can do myself.
I never interrupt my sleep by calling on the phone.
I never argue with the choices I have made alone.
The company I give myself is by far the best.
As my best friend, I have to say I outshine all the rest!

 

The prompt for SOCS is “Company.”

The Beginning for SOCS

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The Beginning

You are in a hotel room.  The drapes are drawn. No one else knows you are here.  There is a white covering on the bed—something light that flutters with the fan blades as they go around and around, just like your thoughts.  He has gone.  You don’t know whether to be glad about this or sorry, for with him have vanished all of the terrible things in your life along with all of the best ones.  Mainly, you will now need to decide for yourself what to do next.  What will you have for dinner now that his needs do not need to be taken into account?  When will you go to bed and what side of the bed will you sleep on?  It is like beginning a new life with all of the “musts” and “shoulds” erased.  You can do anything in the world that you want to do.

You take off your dress and then your underwear.  You can have another piece of pie without wondering what he will think the next time he looks at you naked. No one to calculate what went where and when.  Is the roll over your waistline evidence of that triple chocolate ice cream cone?  That extra inch on your thigh the milk you have in your coffee each morning? 

You step to the mirror and look closely, not overlooking for once.  Are your curves artistic or simple obesity? Do you yourself care so long as no one else is looking?  Is his leaving a blessing or a curse?

You move out to the terrace.  It is dark and no one is looking.  The night air has a slight movement that you would not be noticing if you were clothed.  It is almost sensuous, this movement of air like light caressing fingers—the way he could never quite make his fingers  behave enough to be.  Nature has become your lover and perhaps this will be enough. Always before, you have replaced each one who left, but maybe this time you will not bother.  You and the natural world will conspire to meet your needs and you will be shameless in your environment, carefree in your living.  You will pass before mirrors without looking away, even when you stand as you are standing now.  Without cover.  Without any flattering draping or cloaking color.  You.  No longer us.

 

The SOCS prompt is “In The Beginning” (Image generated making use of AI)

Out-Joked for SOCS

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BACK GARDEN1

Out-joked

Everyone must know a joker––
plotter, trickster, laugh-provoker
who doesn’t know quite when to stop.
Who needs, in fact, a humor cop
to tell him when he’s done enough––
pulled his ultimate ruse or bluff.

The dribble glass, the rubber poop
placed upon your house’s stoop?
Definitely adolescent
if not actually prepubescent.
Yet still this buffoon thinks he’s funny.
With lists of jokes, he’s over-punny.

Every occasion, every rumor
is met by him with off-base humor.
It’s his role to create sensation
in the most serious conversation.
Exploding cigars, salty gum,
whoopee cushions ‘neath your bum.

No matter how you beg this friend
to bring these antics to their end,
he never seems to listen to
what he’s requested to “not” do.
so when he streaked my garden party,
elegant, refined and arty,

he finally found himself undone
when he’d half-completed his naked run.
Dear friend, when you chose where you stepped,
you should have veered or should have leapt.
When he replaced your rubber poo,
my dog just pulled a joke on you!

 

The SOCS prompt is “Joke.”

Cleanup Crew for SOCS

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Not dead..just stuffed full and taking a rest.

Cleanup Crew

They eke their living out of our scraps
purloined while we are taking naps
or out for walks or just aren’t looking––
so intent upon our cooking
that we fail to see them scamper
(from where they hide behind the hamper)
out to gather crumbs they seek.
But instead, they prompt an “Eek”
as Mom goes one way, they the other
off to find, they hope, another
kitchen where the cook’s more willing
to ignore their needs for filling
rodent jaws and rodent tummies
with some errant human yummies.

The SOCS prompt is eek/eke

The Case of the Exploding Wedding Jar: A 7-Day Challenge

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When I saw that today’s prompt was “Seven,” I had to check to see if I’d ever used the word in a prompt before and was led to this post from 2013 that I couldn’t resist reposting:

 

The Case of the Exploding Wedding Jar: A 7-Day Challenge

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The Case of the Exploding Wedding Jar

Last year in Chiapas
at a small bazaar
I chanced upon a treasure—
a terracotta jar.

It was so very lovely
that I had to pick it up.
The shopkeeper came and told me
it was a wedding cup.

It had two well-formed curving necks,
each one with a lip
so both the bride and groom
could have a wedding sip.

What a lovely vase
I thought that it would make.
I packed it up most carefully,
afraid that it would break.

Once home, I’d soon unpacked it
as fast as I was able.
I put two candles in the necks
and placed it on the table.

This jar has lit my table for
each meal with guests so far.
In between occasions,
I sat it on the bar.

A little terracotta horse
and chalice sat nearby.
They made a lovely trio,
pleasing to the eye.

I have many treasures
—too many to display.
So most of them I use a bit
and then I put away.

But these terracotta pieces
have sat out for one year.
I just cannot hide them,
for I hold them dear.

Tonight I laid the table
for guests from out of town.
I spread the mats and from the bar
three pieces I brought down.

I wanted an arrangement
to put upon the table.
I filled the jar with greenery—
as much as I was able.

Filled with ferns and succulents
and graceful parrot’s beak,
the little jar proved waterproof.
In short, it didn’t leak.

I put it on the table.
‘Twas elegant and chic.
Every now and then I
had to take a peek.

Hours passed. I got engrossed
as much as I was able
in boring sorting jobs
and so, I glanced not at my table.

But when at last I thought to look
I wished that I had not.
For something strange had happened
to my little wedding pot.

My view of it was shocking,
in fact, it broke my heart.
My little jar was lying there
in pieces—burst apart!

The flowers spilled out on the mat
released from their confinement.
The shards of terracotta
had lost their past refinement.

A mystery now filled my mind.
Just what had caused the break?
I’ve had other strange happenings,
but this one took the cake.

I picked up all the pieces,
but found no water left.
The clay was dry, the pieces firm,
their former smoothness cleft.

I put the table greenery
into another pot.
It sits upon my table,
but my favorite it is not.

Those I’ve told the mystery
have failed to find solution,
but I think this enigma
must have a resolution.

If you can figure out just why
my little jar has burst,
I’ll give a lovely prize unto
the person who is first.

There is a resolution.
I’ve figured out the “why.”
If you can tell what burst the jar,
you’ll be the lucky guy

or girl who wins the prize I’ve made
with my own lily hands.
But there will be no fanfare,
and there will be no bands.

I am, you see, in mourning.
I’m sad.  It is a fact.
I miss my sweet Chiapas jar
as it appeared intact.

But even so, I give you aid
to help you solve the riddle.
I took a picture of the jar
and what was in the middle.

Answer quick and you may win.
If not, you will not die.
At my blog you can try
You can try your try.

If in the course of seven days,
everyone should fail,
I promise that I’ll tell you all
the ending to this tale.

I’ll tell the reason for the break.
I’ll open up your eyes.
And then I’ll have the funeral—
and open up my prize.

This entry was posted ion  by . Below are the guesses that were posted regarding the reason the jar exploded:
  4. Tamara
    Well, it appears that you had filled the jar with stones. I think the weight of the stones was too much for the pot and it cracked. But, I’m not sure what happened to the water. Maybe it evaporated.

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  5. Janet Reichert's avatarJanet Reichert
    You filled the bottom of jar with dried beans, which absorbed the water, swelled and caused the pot to burst. If I had more time, I’d make this rhyme.

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  6. lifelessons's avatargrieflessonsPost author
    On October 28 at 9;29 PM, Peggy Langdon solved the mystery, but posted it on Facebook instead of this blog. Her answer was: “Not as mysterious and lovely as your poem but if I’m not mistaken those are beans. I think they absorbed the water, expanded and then the wonderful Chiapas jar cracked. There is no water as all the water is contained in the beans. Wish I could come up with a story of the wedding the jar participated in and the bride and groom have recently deceased..but beans are my solution..”I (Judy) will just add that the beans were there to hold the candles I’d originally had in the jar. When they burned down, they formed a wax layer over the beans and I forgot they were there. Evidently, the wax had a crack in it that allowed the water to seep down into the beans but it was strong enough to prevent the beans from spilling out of the top…Good thinking, Peggy and Janet!!

The SOCS prompt for today is “Seven.”


Happy Ending––In fact, I bought two wedding jars  and here is the other, still intact. This one isn’t quite as attractive as the first, but nonetheless I have it if needed!!!

 

Open Hand for SOCS, Sept 12, 2025

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Open Hand

Wings held lightly without crushing
survive to join the world’s wild rushing,
while love held by a tight-clenched fist
quells half our reason to exist.

Some laud passions most rapacious—
grasping, volatile, tenacious;
but this is not the love I feel.
I do not seek to swoon or reel.

The tenacity of a skin tight glove
might stay my soaring to heights above.
I need your love like an open hand.
Not for me the wedding band.

The bond I seek from you, my dear,
is not the gauntlet that I fear
but rather, fingers whose sensations
are left free to life’s elations.

Butterflies kept in a jar
lose that beauty seen from afar.
That grace of movement caught on air
is what makes their beauty rare.

I love it when your arms enfold,
but if you love me, loose your hold.
The measure of my tenacity
is that I’ll come back to thee.

jdbphoto

The SOCS prompt is “Hand.”

The SOCS prompt is “Hand.”

“Hope” for SOCS, Sept 5, 2025

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I can’t resist reblogging this blog I wrote in 2016 for the SOCS Saturday prompt, which is “Begins with ho.” After the poem, there are additional links that finish the tale if you have the patience to read them.

Hope

IMG_5964Hope wears a white apron and a pensive smile!

Hope

I hope life turns out as you wish and is a bowl of cherries.
I hope you find a run of luck and that it never varies.
The whole world would be lucky, if I had my “druthers.”
Every line would catch a fish. All orphans would find mothers.
All endings would be happy. All lottery tickets win.
But as I stop to think of it, I have to think again.
If all of us were winners, winning would lose its distinction.
Every hunter bagging game would lead to their extinction.
It seems that often one guy’s luck brings bad luck to another.
If you’re the family favorite, then it cannot be your brother!
So if I must express my hopes I guess that I’ll just say
I hope that when it is your turn, good luck will come your way!

Now I have to tell the story about my camera, which showed up missing (oxymoron) the day after I’d met friends in the Ajijic plaza coffee place. I’d run a number of errands that day, and so after I had searched my house for over an hour, and my car, and my garden, I headed off for town. Was it at the coffee place? No. Either of the stores I’d visited? No. I headed down the street to Ajijic Tango, where I’d had comida with my friends. All locked up. Seeing a door ajar a few yards away from the entrance, I called into it. It must be the kitchen. I called and called and finally someone came. I gave them a note asking the owner to call me.Then I went home.

A day or so ago I wrote about a friend in Missouri who tends to straighten out my life for me on a regular basis? Well, I wrote to him bemoaning the fate of my camera. Within the hour, he had sent me a link to a local message board and lo and behold–there was a picture of my living room with friends I’d invited to a viewing of the new documentary of another friend all sitting in it! A picture that had been in my camera! Turns out the lady pictured above had been approached by a man who tried to sell her a camera. “He asked too much” she said in her message, which stated that when she’d inspected the camera, she had surreptitiously removed the sd card from the camera as well as three more in the pouch of the carrying case, then posted one of the pictures on the card in hopes of finding the owner.

Did she know the man who had the camera? She did. Long story short, she went to his house to ask about the camera. Sadly, he reported, it had stopped working. (He still didn’t realize she’d taken the sd cards out. Brilliant move on her part.) Did he still have the camera? No, he had given it to his son, who, it turned out, worked in the restaurant next to where I must have lost my camera! After a few more trips to enquire on her part, the next morning I recovered my camera from the son, giving him a good reward, although he didn’t ask. I then recovered my four sd cards from the angel pictured above and gave her a reward as well, in spite of her protests. And that is how my Music Man in Missouri once more came to my aid and turned disaster into luck. (If you regularly read my blog, you might have guessed that I cannot survive without my camera.) What does this story have to do with hope? Simply that I hope if you ever lose anything dear to you that you have two angels looking over you as I did!!!