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
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
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.”
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
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.
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
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 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!!!
Here’s To The Bride
The groom’s family was titled and a bit anachronistic.
So when they saw the bride, I fear they went a bit ballistic.
Instead of white she wore a dress of scarlet oddly draped.
The mother of the groom grew faint. Her husband merely gaped.
She wore something archaic instead of merely old—
her grandma’s feather boa—a bridal statement bold.
Around her neck, a python, and her arms were densely bangled.
Her veil pinned to a tractor hat of satin, oddly-angled.
The brim turned back as though she were an umpire at a game.
In short, the bride’s ensemble was anything but lame.
As she hip-hopped down the aisle to a tune by Kanye West,
the groom stood fondly watching her in morning coat and vest.
Her lipstick blue, her bustier was borrowed and conditional
on return to its owner in a manner most traditional.
To complete her fashion statement, her combat boots were blue,
and if you’ve paid attention, you could guess that they were new!
Her bouquet was fresh dandelions bound up with some chives.
She held it in one hand and with the other, gave high fives
to friends all up the aisle as she jerked her way on by.
The groom’s mom gave a shudder and his father gave a sigh.
So did this modern wedding forsake the antiquated
with customs much less stuffy, less predictable and dated.
The wedding fare was tacos, Cuban sandwiches and chips,
jelly beans and donuts, crudités and dips.
No caviar or salmon. Just ribs and Tater Tots.
The toasts to bride and groom were made with Jello shots.
The wedding cake was chocolate with custard between layers.
Good wishes voiced by ministers, gurus and namaste’ers.
In place of rice the bride and groom were showered with quinoa.
In short, it was a wedding to rival mardi gras!
The SOCS prompt is “toast.”
The Birth of Poetry
A pad of paper and a pen––
when these two meet, new worlds begin.
Born in the head of one who writes,
each magic word many more ignites
until at last, the story’s told,
once more as in days of old.
How many years may it have been
since first a poet lifted pen?
May I invite you to lift your pen to comment below?
The SOCS Prompt this week is “Pad.”
I found five old passports and an international driving permit from 1986.
Why, oh why can I not find my current passport?
An extra hour would be nice. A day’s not long enough.
I know I’d use the extra hour looking for lost stuff!
My passport has gone missing and it’s been a major pain.
I would give most anything to have it back again.
I’ve looked in all my files, my drawers and every purse.
I have too many places. It couldn’t get much worse.
If I ever find it, I’ve made myself a vow to
make my life much simpler, if I just could figure how to!
I actually lost my passport a few years ago. I looked for it for 4 or 5 hours without finding it, but my housekeeper found it in 5 minutes when she came the next day––in a place where I’d looked twice!!! She lit a candle and said whenever I lost things I should do the same. She says her friend has a Virgin and Child statue, and whenever she loses anything, she takes the baby out of the mother’s arms and says she’ll return it when she has helped her to find whatever she has lost!! Talk about blackmail in high places! Ha. A simple solution.
The prompt for SOCS is “Simple.”
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Like
Edit
Like
Edit
Like
Edit
Like
Edit
Like
Edit
Like
Edit
Like
Edit
Like
Edit