Tag Archives: The Daily Prompt




If you would be captivating, learn this lesson well.
You won’t be so admired for the tales you choose to tell
as for the ones you listen to with your whole attention.
Your questions can define you as much as what you mention.


The prompt today was captivating.

The Eighth Deadly Sin (Advice for Errant Males)


The Eighth Deadly Sin:
(Advice for Errant Males)

Wrath and avarice and pride
can be safely kept inside.
So although we all may be them,
it is often hard to see them.

If you are a seasoned actor,
sloth will never be a factor
leading to your firing
or premature retiring.

Often envy, I confess,
is one more way that I transgress;
but even though we’re caught inside it,
almost all of us can hide it.

Lust is the sin that’s most unfurled
upon us in this modern world
in every book and magazine.
In movies? It’s in every scene.

And though sex is oft debated,
we only label them X-rated;
and though we profess to abhor them,
in solitude, we may adore them.

Gluttony’s the only sin
we cannot seem to keep within;
for everything that meets our lips,
alas, is carried on our hips!

Each is labeled “deadly sin”—
the one outside, others within;
but I’m inclined to add another
perhaps not taught you by your mother.

These deadly sins from one to seven
may be what keep you out of heaven,
but it’s transgression number eight
that will ban you as my date!

You may talk as you pour wine,
and continue as we dine;
but when I start to tell a tale,
heaven help the errant male

who utters “Me, too . . . ” then proceeds
to list more of his facts and deeds.
As music fades and lights all dim,
bringing the subject back to him!

I know that sinning is the fate
of many couples on a date.
So lust may now and then corrupt me,
but no one gets to interrupt me!!!!


Must admit this is a reprint of a poem I wrote three years ago, and although this eighth deadly sin is one that well-deserves burial, I think the poem written about it might well be resurrected one more time, so I am telling the tale again in hopes those it describes might recognize themselves and repent before it is too late.

And, for those of you whom I told were incorrect when they guessed that the photo I published yesterday was a bunch of parsnips, I apologize. I was told they were rutabagas, but when I consulted Google images, I discovered you were right!

The prompt today was bury.



All the love that you confess
I fear is rendered meaningless
by the kiss you choose to press
near the neckline of my dress.
Hidden by collar, more or less,
the flower you rendered like counting coup
last night, now blooms in black and blue.
It was the least that you could do
once you’d gone through all your brew
and needed a diversion new.

When you said you’d shower me with flowers,
I envisioned vases, bowers.
Not this expression of your power
that lowered me from ivory tower
and taught me how to cringe and cower.
Each floral offering rendered anew
confirms what I must one day do.
each page in this scrapbook of you
written in a violent hue
on my body is one you’ll rue.

Once I’ve worked out my solution,
plotted and planned my retribution,
prepared the waters of my ablution,
then I will stage my revolution
and enact our dissolution.
I’ll pluck my flower from your bouquet
and be no more beneath your sway.
I will be happy and free and gay
with no nightly price to pay.
I really will. One day, one day

The prompt word today is meaningless.

Waiting for the Rest of Her Life

img_7765photo and collage by jdb

Waiting for the Rest of Her Life

She has faith in the future that her life will fit.
She sits at home patiently, planning on it.
But as she sits waiting for the rest of her life,
the fear it won’t happen cuts like a knife.
As day after day goes by in a whirr,
she’s starting to realize it might not occur.

Her little white dog lies curled up beside her,
but stroking his coat won’t relieve what’s inside her.
She’s yearning for something­–she’s not quite sure what.
Inside her, the want of it roils in her gut,
then digs itself deeper into her soul.
It’s like playing a game where she can’t find the goal.

In every city, far up, looking down,
there are folks in tall buildings, surveying the town—
every alley and walkway for as far as they can
eyes staring out as they survey and pan
the small world below them that must have an answer
to this life that’s consuming them like a slow cancer.

I want to tell them that love can’t find you.
You must lean yourself over and pick up a shoe.
Put it on, then the other one. Walk out the door.
Waiting’s not what life was intended for.
We were pushed into life at the time of our birth,
and life goes on pushing all over the earth.

So all of you people with all of your faces
behind all these windows in all of these places,
Give up your pining and wishing and hoping.
No happiness lies in all of this coping.
Go find your soulmate, no matter the weather,
and then you can spend your life waiting together.



The prompt word today was “waiting.”






I used to be plucky, I used to be pert.
I used to pass muster in shorts or a skirt.
But lately my pert parts have just seemed to shift,
and various parts are in need of a lift.
Big tops are my saviors. Caftans are my friends––
obscuring my excesses, shielding my bends.
Back in my plucky days, I was a flirt,
but seduction is over now I’m an ex-pert!


The prompt today was “Expert.”


The Prompt: Tell us about a time you should have stopped and helped someone but didn’t.


When I rise at seven to let her out,
she’s in a hurry, without a doubt,
for I see only a streaking blur––
a tip of tail and whirr of fur.
As she rushes out to pee,
the shame is not on her, but me.
I heard her bark an hour ago,
but it was only seven and so
I thought I’d just go back to sleep
and she made no further peep.

Now I see the pile upon the floor
just inside the open door
held as long as she was able,
then hidden underneath the table.
Not the first time in twelve years
that she’s caught me in arrears
in opening doors to let her out,
yet it is true without a doubt
that she has never erred before
and made a mess upon the floor.

I know that she is feeling shame,
even though she’s not to blame.
For once she is not under feet
as I prepare something to eat;
and when I call, she does not come.
She’s in the garden, feeling glum.
She feels she’s done a shameful act
devoid of training, breeding, tact.
She does not know that I’m the one
standing here with smoking gun.

Every bit of blame is mine,
for Frida’s former record is fine.
For twelve long years, she never peed
upon the roof in time of need
even when we didn’t know
she was locked up there and so
there is no need to hang her head
in shame of what she’s done, and dread
of being scolded or being blamed.
I am the one who should be shamed!


In and Out

In and Out


The Lapdog

Dogs that stand outside and seek admittance to within
overlook the worth of what they’ve seen and where they’ve been.
Those of us sealed fast inside yearn to see the world
that we have been deprived of as we lie securely curled
in the safety of our houses, away from chasing cars
and other fun activities kept from us by bars.
We would feel such ecstasy racing after squirrels,
other dogs and cats and lizards, skunks and boys and girls.
We seek to flee the rules that those street dogs seem to flout.
We would have such wild adventures if we only could get out!!


The Street Dog

Lucky little dogs with collars sit there looking out
as though they do not know what life for street dogs is about.
We’d love to have their pampering and their daily feeding.
What they seek escape from is exactly what we’re needing!


The Prompt: Tell us about a time you were on the outside looking in. https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/the-outsiders/