Tag Archives: the daily spur

The Wordsmith’s Divulgence

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The Wordsmith’s Divulgence

My story is a flamfoo, ornamented too excessively.
I always overdo it. I’m over-endowed expressively.

Why use one word with two in mind? I fear I’m never spartan.
Instead of wearing loincloths, my poems are dressed in tartan!

Instead of coming one-by-one, my thoughts come in a storm.
So many little busy bees, descending in a swarm.

I do not have the patience to select them one-by one.
When I seek to edify, I simply find it fun

to pile on word after word. The more the merrier.
Bald truth is not my forte. I prefer my grand thoughts hairier!

 

 

Prompt words today are patience, wordsmith, flamfoo, edify and storm. A flamfoo, by the way, is a gaudily overdressed woman or an ornament of her dress.

Sneaking Up On the Muse

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Sneaking Up On the Muse

My verses are not perfect. I’m no Dickinson or Byron.
My words are rough and crumpled, in need of a hot iron.
My reasoning is stifled, obscured by feeble brain.
I often have to write a line again and then again.
My successful lines are stealthy. They just creep up on me,
perhaps because my muses hang around insistently.
If I could take a stealthie, perhaps you’d see one hovering
there over my shoulder, inspiring and mothering.
In short, on those occasions when my inspiration’s slight,
and I cannot find a poem, likely my muses might!

Words of the day are stealthie, slight, rumpled, stifle and iron.

(A stealthie is defined as a picture taken by someone, usually a girl, that is clearly a selfie but contains a cute animal or object of interest in order to curb the backlash of it being a selfie, or a picture taken without the subject’s knowledge, especially using a smartphone. Retrieved from “https://en.wiktionary.org/ and the Urban Dictionary. This imaginary stealthie is of my mother, hovering over my left shoulder. She was my first inspiration and conspirator  in rhyme and still, it is her voice I hear every time I write a rhymed poem.)

United States

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United States

As I peruse the system, I cannot help but balk.
Instead of fixing fissures, they just bring out the caulk
and stuff it in the spaces, obscuring every crack,
not finding it expedient to deal with what we lack.

If we could come together in more than just our name,
looking for a way to fix instead of just to blame,
we could start on the road  to our founding fathers’ aim
and prove for once that politics is more than just a game.

It’s become unexpected for our government to work.
Various private agendas cause senators to shirk
the purpose of their being there—to work the problems out.
Instead, each chance to work together turns into a bout.

Republican or Democrat, their whole agenda should
be to make our country fair and safe and good.
Bring mercy out of hiding. Make lady justice proud.
Surrender guns. Thereby decree,”No violence allowed.”

Take back the halls of governance from the N.R.A.
Accept that we’re all brothers, be we black or white or gay,
transgendered, brown or red, no matter how we look or talk.
If our true aim is democracy, we’ve got to walk the walk.

Prompt words are unexpected, peruse, system, balk and game.

Gross Yield

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Gross Yield

Hardly a paradisiac setting, he met her at the dumpster.
She was a free spirit and, alas, he was a Trumpster.
He thought that she looked nifty in spite of her dreadlocks.
She thought he was her nemesis. Just look! Argyle socks!!!!
He lifted up the lid so she could throw in all her junk.
She didn’t pay attention. She liked her lovers punk.

But he wooed her every garbage day. A regular Lochinvar,
he insisted she not lift the bags, declaring it too far
from her doorway to the dumpster and offered his assist.
In the end, she always let him, though she did try to resist!
I could draw out this long story. There were dates, flowers and candy.
They wed, and though he bored her, his gross income came in handy!

Prompts for today are junk, nemesis, paradisiac, nifty and income. Photo by Yannes Kiefer on Unsplash. Used with permission.

Cold Shoulder

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Cold Shoulder

He parcels out emotions as though he has to pay for them.
If you expect affections, you’ll be waiting night and day for them.
He thinks those who show emotion to be members of a cult,
so he does not appreciate nor covet nor exult.

He gets antagonistic when a lady holds his hand.
He believes that blatant signal to deserve a reprimand.
Communication? Dangerous when it goes too far.
If joie de vivre is what you seek, for sure, he’s under par.

 

Prompt words today are covet, dangerous, parcel, antagonistic and  emotions.

Photo

Loam

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Loam

My roots are in the soil of the place I once called home
and still I feel a part of that South Dakota loam.
It had rich humus that gave life to all that seeded me,
clay to hold my memories and sand to set me free.

Lest I give the impression that they’re gone without a trace,
a myriad of memories lie rooted in that place.
They flit like prairie moths through everything I do,
then sink back down into my heart like rich Dakota goo.

 

Prompts for today are impression, myriad, flit and home. (Loam is a fertile soil of clay and sand containing humus.) Photo by Nikola Jovanovic on Unsplash. Used with permission.

Pawn

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Pawn

Like a lamb led to the slaughter in this burgeoning situation,
I’ll load me up into my car and head out toward the station
of a drive-up clinic to allow a medic guy
to stick a Q-tip up my nose to see if I can fly.

Just another fun-filled day in a year of situations
that have not included gatherings or tropical vacations.
But now I find I’m breaking this year of solitary
to fly up to the states for shots, and am I worried? Very.

Nonetheless, my lot is cast, my sis purchased my ticket
and though I have a hunch it is the proverbial sticky wicket,
I’m flying off to Phoenix to spend a month or so,
even though a part of me says I shouldn’t go.

Yet another part of me says it will be fun
to see my sister once again. When all is said and done,
One choice or the other, they both have pros and cons,
and once again I feel that we’re fate’s complicit pawns.

 

Prompt words today are lamb, solitary, statue, burgeon and situation.

Cruel Words

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Cruel Words

True love may grow petulant and jagged at the edges,
so beware emotion’s vertigo while navigating ledges.
Too-blunt words and thoughtlessness certainly may wreak
a petulance forbidding us to turn the other cheek.

Cupid should inculcate us with presence of mind
to remember that above all else, a lover should be kind.
What love has joined together may be split by just one quip.
Lips that desire kissing should detect just when to zip!!!

Prompt words today are jagged, petulant, cheek, inculcate and join.

Ode to My Doctor, Who Has Done Little to Curry My Favor

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Ode to My Doctor, Who Has Done Little to Curry My Favor

Each of these foods you suggest for my diet
has not one feature to urge me to try it.
The chard is too leafy, the kale makes me gag.
I will be affianced to naught in this bag.

This fluffy green spinach would be best in a dip
with sour cream and onions and served on a chip.
I have not one vestige of an urge to consume it
raw in a salad, so do not assume it

will ever pass lips as selective as mine.
I need carbohydrates and meat when I dine.
Do you get the message that I’m on the outs
with arugula, collard greens, beet greens and sprouts?

My palate’s impavid when it comes to spice.
A molé is lovely and a curry is nice,
but please put some meat in it. I’m a contrarian
when you attempt to turn me vegetarian.

Prompt words for today are sprout, vestige, impavid, affiance and chip.

 

Preaching to the Preacher

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Preaching to the Preacher

When your downside is upside and all’s in arrears,
there’s a secret I know that will dry up your tears.
It’s much easier, really, than you might suppose.
Just find a good spot and enact your repose.

A hammock will do if you can’t find a field
of wildflowers, grass or sand dunes that yield
to the shape of your body to comfort what ails you.
Take whatever place to lie down that avails you.

Then when your nestling-in is all done,
let the storm of your worries dissolve in the sun.
Swing in your hammock or roll in tall grass.
Let what happens happen. Just let it all pass.

Refuse to let problems consume and astound you.
Take heed of the beauty that is all around you.
Every moment of every day,
choose what holds on and what slips away.

Life deals you the hand and sometimes it’s unlucky,
but yet if you’re hopeful and cheerful and plucky,
You can determine what you do with your hand.
 The end of your story has not been preplanned.

You may draw, you may hold, you may just walk away
in search of a better end to this day.
Bad fortune is but a rough interlude
What remains with you is your attitude.

 

Irony is us. The minute I finished writing this poem, my doorbell rang. It was Raquet Club security with a letter that I have to tear down the small storeroom I built on the wall between my upper and lower lots because it violates the easement!  I can’t believe it that I’ve spent thousands of dollars to create a beautiful space in lieu of the neighborhood dumping ground and they nitpick over my attaching a tiny storage building to my own wall between two properties that I own! 

“Tranquila, tranquila,” Yolanda directed, as I raged––and then I suddenly remembered the words I’d just written and not even posted yet.  I was going to entitle this poem “Preaching from the Choir,” but I think I need to change the title to “Preaching to the Preacher.”  I’m going to post it and go lie in the hammock for awhile.

 

Prompts today are storm, upside, repose, comfort and tears.