Tag Archives: Word of the Day

Feeling Poorly

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Shades of pumpkin face. What I look like!!!

I’ll do you the favor of not taking a selfie of my grotesquely swollen face. A 1 a.m. mad dash to hospital emergency last night did not seem to do anything to solve the problem so I need to be off again to try to find a solution after zero sleep last night. Poor, poor Pearl. What am I doing blogging? Just passing the hours until the lab and dentist office open up. Then another trip to a doctor to get results of blood tests. 

Feeling Poorly

The solution to my problem may be labeled as arcane,
for all attempts to solve it have been, alas, in vain.
I’ve visited three dentists but the jagged pain persists,
driven to emergency, gripping the wheel with fists
at 1 am, hoping that I’d soon be on the mend,
but alas is seems as though my pains aren’t going to end.

New antibiotics that have not as yet kicked in,
my pain pills ineffective, I cannot resort to gin.
Two teeth pulsing, face swollen from jaw to cheek to eye.
Skin pulled to the bursting point. I’m barely getting by.
With not one hour of sleep last night, I’d better catch a cab
to take me back to Ajijic for blood tests at the lab.

I’ve got to ask my dentist to try to fit me in,
but all-in-all my patience is wearing rather thin.
Once I’d grown accustomed to all my regular ills,
clear on how to treat them with my handy stash of pills,
it seems that Mother Nature is up to newer tricks.
Is messing with us humans the way she gets her kicks?

If she wants to pay us back for ills that we have done,
could she pick a guiltier target with whom to have her fun?
I’m trying to do right by her by cutting down on trash,
recycling all my plastics, my cardboard and my glass.
And I can give directions to Washington D.C.
so she can plague the guilty guys and lay off li’l ole me!

This is a poor excuse for a poem. Just can’t think of anything else at the moment as I wait for the medical world to awaken. I’ve had a miserable night.

Signs of a sad Halloween

Prompt words today are mend, regular, jagged, arcane and drive.

Hard Truths from a Best Friend

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Hard Truths from a Best Friend

I must derail the rhapsody you’ve treated us to recently
about the new man in your life who’s treated you so decently.
Flowers or candy every date, then wining, dining, dancing.
No man in history ever excelled him in romancing.

It’s been such a whirlwind romance, developing so fast,
but I fear this sudden summer storm is one that will not last.
You may protest  I’m flaky and I don’t know what I’m saying,
but I would stake my life on the fact that he’s not staying.

What argument is plausible? What words can I relate
to convince you that your lover is a reprobate?
As your best friend, I must reveal this great love of your life
will fade away on the return of his vacationing wife!

Prompt words today are flaky,  rhapsody, derail, plausible and fast.

Karma

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Screen Shot 2019-10-25 at 9.22.14 AM.pngphoto by Darren Halstea, Unsplash. Used w/ permission

Karma

Can we extricate ourselves from all the evil we may we do,
or once we meet our maker will fate drop the other shoe
and will the evil we have done be visited on us?
On our journey to Nirvana, will we have missed the bus?

Will we be held accountable for all that we have done?
Once our life is over, will atonement have its fun?
Will there just be the help for us that we’ve given to others,
so our lack of mercy toward enemies and brothers
will be visited upon us, in spite of all our pleas—
past cruelties unfurled on us as we beg on our knees?

How many lifetimes will it take to extricate our being
from the fate we’ve set in motion? How long ’til we’ll be seeing
that the future ills we suffer are the ills we’ve done the world,
and in each evil act, our own future was unfurled.

Prompts this week are accountable, total, Karma, extricate and help.

Rubber Boots

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Rubber Boots

All the flowers are crying, their petals streaming drops
inherited from rivers flooding over troughs
running up above them, collecting all the streams
that run down the roof top and across the beams.

The rainfall is most copious. It kisses windowpanes
with countless fractured raindrops, each falling where it deigns.
If this were not a school day, I’d run about outside.
This staying inside looking I cannot abide.

I’d rather splash in puddles, damming off the flood
with my rubber rain boots, crushing down the mud
to form private embankments to stem the rushing tide.
What an unfair punishment, this keeping me inside.

Reading, maths and spelling cannot hold my attention,
for I have these new rubber boots I am driven to mention.
I can’t wait ’til recess so I can try them out,
for in rainy weather, splashing’s what it’s about!!!!

 

Prompts today are “a flower cried,” school, crush, copious and kiss.

Photo Credits: Red boots by Rupert Brooks , blue boots by markus Spiske, both on Unsplash, used with permission.

Indulgent Parents at the DMV

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Indulgent Parents at the DMV

You’ve studied so hard and we’re screamingly proud.
You’ve done everything perfect, for crying out loud.

You’ve conquered the manual, drive in the dark,
avoiding pedestrians. Parallel park.

You knew all the signals for stopping and turning.
Looked perfectly calm, though your stomach was churning.

It’s such a travesty  you didn’t pass.
That inspector was prejudiced, ornery and crass.

Your driving test was perfect. Almost.
Anyone could have missed seeing that post!

 

Prompts today are travesty, scream, manual, loud and almost.

Cartoon Thinking

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Cartoon Thinking

If our thoughts grew out of us in a gigantic bubble,
perhaps they might give warning to keep us out of trouble.
They might flow on ahead of us in a big balloon
to tell folks what we’re thinking, like in a cartoon.

Sometimes our thoughts scream out at us. At other times they whisper.
Sometimes our minds are in a fog. At other times they’re crisper,
but with prior warning of dangerous or sad thoughts,
perhaps our friends would intervene to circumvent  bad thoughts.

Folks in crowds we’re entering might split to left and right
when we’re in a pissy mood and spoiling for a fight.
Those we meet might warn us of what we’re about to think,
or chuckle at our naughty thoughts and give a little wink.

What would the world be like if folks knew everything we thought?
One friend would know we hate her hair, one know we think he’s hot.
There would be no mysteries, not one Christmas surprise.
No detecting secret thoughts by staring into eyes.

The whole world would be literal. No nuances or mysteries.
Strangers would know our secrets, both our present and our histories.
No reading of expressions, for the truth would all be there
floating in thought bubbles, right above your hair!

Prompt words are scream, ahead, bubble, right.

Pot Luck (Copacetic in Retirement)

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Pot Luck
(Copacetic in Retirement)

We’re copacetic in retirement. It’s like back in the days
when pot first hit the sixties and our minds were in a haze.
Drugs made our dreaming groovy and our lives peripatetic.
Our clothes were loose and festive. Every day was copacetic.

With time to watch the raindrops dripping drip by drip,
we took life with a grain of salt. Worrying was unhip.
So now life’s cycled back again. Desperate days are done.
We don’t have to fight the traffic. We have more time for fun.

Once more, drugs are ubiquitous, although a different type,
with a pill for every malady, an herb for every gripe.
Now that they’re legalizing cannabis, we’re drowning in fine weed—
a type for every malady. A strain for every need.

Do they think if we’re sedated, we won’t notice what they’re doing?
Will it censor our displeasure? Will it stifle all our booing
as they reduce our Medicare to supplement their yachts,
will they recycle our dinero from the “have-nots” to the “gots?”

Perhaps they want us copacetic, for at last it meets their need
to sedate the angry masses and cover up their greed.
A car in every garage and a chicken in every pot
Got Herbert Hoover elected. Did he do it? He did not!

Now when we apply for licenses, sometimes they merely balk
and say to call a taxi, an Uber or just walk.
They’re cutting our “entitlements,” so we don’t have a lot
left to buy the chicken, but at least we have the pot!!

The prompts today are ubiquity,  drip, desperate, festivities, copacetic.

H-e-e-e-re’s Donald!

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samantha-sophia-8bLGxhsR8sY-unsplashImage by Samanta Sabina on Unsplash, used with permission

H-e-e-e-re’s Donald!

Our nation’s growing jittery. It seems our ruler’s broken.
In the land of liberty, freedom is just a token.
Surrounded by his family, his fumbling words are brisk.
He issues crazy edicts, putting the world at risk.
As he pens crude letters to men of more distinction,
we cower in our houses. fearing mass extinction.
He poo-poos all our scientists. The climate’s doing fine.
Who cares if the whole planet is headed for decline?
Glaciers swiftly melting. Forest fires raging.
He overlooks the hurricanes, intent upon his caging.
Children are the biggest risk, so he sends them packing.
Makes military decisions with very little backing.
On his situation comedy played on the largest screen,
he spins out the same old story: our country has grown mean.

Prompt words for today are broken, ruler, jittery, brisk and family.

Hop Scotch (Don’t Worry. Be Happy!)

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                       Click on photos to enlarge.

 

T

                                  Hop
Scotch

                      “How green is blue?” the child asks,
“What is the taste of pink?”
                        A prodigy koan-master
 with a novel way to think,
                        such problems keep a child’s mind
engaged in matters other
                         than all the daily problems
of a father or a mother. 

                         No spider ever stumbles
when spinning out her strands,
                         for the feet she walks around on
are really only hands.
                         No specter of a problem
ever plagues a goat.
                          He simply feeds upon the world
and lives his life by rote.

                       And so it is with children.
They go from thing to thing
                      with no worries of the outcomes
that their acts might bring.
                       They leave to human adults
the worries of such things
                        and simply live with pleasures
that every new day brings.

Prompts for today are “How green is blue?” spider, stumble, specter and goat.

Leftovers

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IMG_3941

In honor of Canadian Thanksgiving and looking forward to ours later this month, this poem is dedicated to Morrie and Diego, who profit from all culinary events in my house:

Leftovers
(Dedicated to Two Hopeful Dogs)

Crying for our leftovers won’t bring you any favors.
You will not taste their textures or masticate their flavors
if you stand there begging. Those winsome looks aren’t working.
Nor are your lapsing manners—your twisting and your jerking.

Hunger doesn’t justify your unwelcome behavior.
Before we even sat down, we saw Grandpa was your savior,
slipping you a turkey leg he had dipped in gravy.
(That leg I’d saved for leftovers–a turkey sandwich, maybe.)

Our home-cooked meal? Delicious. That you already know.
When I cooked the pies, I fed you scraps of dough.
The turkey giblets boiled for gravy, later went to you.
When I cooked the cranberries, you even ate a few.

You licked the pumpkin bowl so clean. You licked the beater blade
when I whipped the cream for pies. Dear ones, you had it made.
So when you beg for leftovers, I’ll just ignore your fuss.
You ate before the guests, dears. Leftovers are for us!

Prompts for today are winsome, manner, justify, leftovers and home.