Wishy-Washy
Simple pleasures lack that “Gosh!”
that goes with habits much more posh,
so I renounce such simple things
in favor of what richness brings.
If your response to what I choose
includes recital of what I’ll lose:
sunsets, laughter, hand-held walks,
peanut butter and midnight talks,
then perhaps I’ll change my mind
for pleasures of a simpler kind.
Prompt words today are simple pleasures, renounce, posh, recital and response.
Grandpa Discovers Virtual Reality
I’ve been over yonder and frankly I’m perplexed
about how all the young ‘uns seem to be so under-sexed.
Virtual reality makes real-time life a bore.
Why bother with reality when you can live on lore?
Real life takes some gumption but virtual life’s a snap.
Who needs real love with Kim Kardashian upon your lap?
It seems that in the future perhaps all folks will live thusly,
sitting watching screens to live their lives vicariously.
Prompt words are perplexed, vicariously, frankly, yonder and snap. Image by Lucrezia Carnelos on Unsplash.
Click on photos to enlarge and read captions.
These photos are all out of sequence and Word Press seems to have changed things so I can no longer put them in the order that they occurred. The last photo is of Sherry’s flipper as she swam back to join us at the beach restaurant. I’ve spent two hours trying to get the photos in sequence and another half hour with WP tech help to no avail. If anyone reading this knows of a more writer-friendly platform for blogs, please let me know. So sorry that Word Press is getting progressively more non-cooperative.
Beach Morning
Fear of contact with that first cold wave keeps me lingering in bed this second morning at the beach. I can hear the surf that pounds the beach just ten yards from the garden wall of the house where I am staying for a week with friends. If they manage to rouse me from my warm nest, we’ll probably walk again down the beach to sit at a table at the Playa Azul to await Sherry’s return from her long swim to the offshore island and back. She resists the group swim that will take place later, the participants attached to floats on their backs to ward off overenthusiastic speed boaters who otherwise might stray too close, forgetful of the fact that other humans traverse these waters unencumbered by craft. It is her opinion that this daily journey is best accomplished in private, face to the water, snorkel fins flopping like friendly pats upon the ocean’s surface, as if to beat a friendly reminder that someone is about to visit.
Every January and February (and sometimes March) for years, I stood in these same waters, closer to shore, doing my thousand exercises while fighting the waves–lifting on their inward journey to land, feet settling again to sand on their outward pull back out to sea. Having nearly drowned once long before while Kayaking the Rogue River in Oregon, I preferred water with the security of a firm surface under my feet, even if it was just at intervals. What snorkeling adventures I have participated in since that near-fatal water adventure have included a boat within swimming distance, and so sitting here with longtime friends, discussing past adventures and writing and those other beach visitors that walk past us on the beach, I can’t help but keep an eye peeled for a view of Sherry’s flippers, flopping into view a mile or so away across the water, circling the small island, moving away from the sailboat that veers in her direction.
She will return to land, removing her false frog feet, shaking water from her second skin, to join us for coffee and hotcakes and eggs, chilaquiles or breakfast burritos, orange juice and papaya. Joined together again in the most communal of activities–a shared meal–we will again be united by those activities we share: laughter, tall tales, plans for the day, watching beach dogs, memories of past camaraderie, shared absent friends, plans for the rest of the day. This vacation at the beach after two years’ absence is a balm that soothes my soul and makes me thankful for this day, in spite of the future that might await us due to those others who guide the fate of the world. This day, this hour, the minute behind us and those long minutes in front of us are ones of our own making, and they are perfect.
Prompt words today are fear, opinion, forgetful and cold wave.
Poetry Queen
Your poetry’s great, both gripping and fragile—
your style of delivery skillful and agile.
Swathed in your gear both sexy and hip,
you have the whole crowd within your cool grip.
Those reticent types who came thinking they’d jeer
are slapping their knees and crying in their beer.
Skillful at words and for sure in your prime,
you’re our favorite reciter of meter and rhyme.
Prompt words today are fragile, reticent, delivery, swathe and grip. Image by Marcos Paul on Unsplash.
Culture Queen
She was a universal maven. Up on every trend.
Music, art and literature thrilled her to no end.
She raised no petty cavils. Her eye and mind were keen.
Her taste was impeccable. She was the culture queen.
She painted masterpieces when she was just a maid,
and though detractors said that her genius would fade,
she remained keen in her eighties and proved her critics wrong,
tackling every challenge as they came along.
She kept her zest for life until they laid her down,
and so became the object of the world’s renown.
Although this poem was written about a fictional character, when I started looking for photos of classy ladies, my friend Gloria, who luckily has not been laid down, seemed to fill the bill.
Heirlooms
Heirloom quilts, wedding veils, and Grandma’s tablecloths
are but future feeding grounds for silverfish and moths.
Since we cannot control the changes that the future brings,
we should not be flummoxed by the loss of treasured things.
Their value is more visceral than literal, it’s true,
so time can rarely mitigate their presence within you.
North and south and east and west—wherever we are cast—
within our minds and hearts, we bear the treasures of our past.
I cannot help mourning the loss of this quilt handmade by my grandmother over 100 years ago which seems to have vanished from the assisted living facility where my sister lived for the last ten years of her life, so I guess this poem was mainly written to comfort myself.
Prompts today are tablecloth, visceral, flummox, mitigate and north.
The Poet Artist
“Poltroon!” He calls out in his sleep,
caught up in words, even when deep
in dreams—those places where he goes
where fresh ideas, rows upon rows,
spreading farther, stacking higher,
crowd his brain . And now, “Pismire!”
Is he building poems or sculptures there?
What new dream, what bold nightmare
will he allow to come to light
as soon as he has finished night
and carved his way into the the day?
The worker ant come out to play?
Carving stone into a face
or moving words from place to place.
All those schemes conceived in dreams
turned into his creative schemes.
I intrude, a kiss, a cuddle,
bringing love into the muddle
of his early morning head,
still sleeping here in my warm bed.
This is no coward sleeping here.
He has no qualms, displays no fear
of any challenge of his art
or adventures of the heart.
Metal, wood, paper and stone—
no one material alone
can solve his lust. He needs them all.
No stone too heavy. No scheme too tall.
And, alas, no woman will
manage to completely fill
that questing heart. That grasping soul.
seeking to reach that final goal.
See some results of those dreams HERE.
Prompt words today are poltroon, cuddle, pismire, allow and worker.
Harridan
I’m standing at the crossroads between a saint and bitch.
Schooled in forebearance, I’ve stayed within my nitch.
But lately things are changing. I’m losing self-control.
The hounds of Hell have been released and now they’re on patrol.
They’re fluting all the pillars formerly unmarked—
scoring them with unfurled claws every time they’ve barked.
Soon I will be certified as a nagging crone—
the sort of aging harpie who prefers to live alone.
I’m sure its hard to fathom it, as perfect as I’ve been,
kowtowing to authority—especially to men.
But privilege must come to all as we come to age,
so I’m expressing sovereignty, at least here on the page.
Word prompts today are flute, crossroads, certified, bitch. Image by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash.
A Suitable Ending
He made a wild adventure out of every act
as his imagination embellished every fact.
No detail insignificant in his lackluster life,
his tall tales irked his children and perplexed his wife.
Each plash became a tidal wave. Trips to the zoo were germinal—
fomenting tales of tigers on safaris nearly terminal.
His day would come, they warned him, but he was a stubborn bloke.
He thrived on spinning yarns and on concocting his next joke.
They always said they’d do him in—those wild tales he spun.
And in the end, his kin were right. He choked on a bad pun.
Prompts today are tiger, insignificant, perplex, plash and terminal.
UFO
You made your appearance without much excitation,
probably due most of all to your orientation
poised above my housetop and slightly to the right
for almost an hour that clear October night.
It seemed no one was watching—too early or too late
for the world to witness and to start a great debate
about bizarre lights in the sky that could not be explained.
Perhaps only I watched as your brilliance flared and waned.
And who am I to ruin my integrity
by sharing with the world what was only viewed by me?
Prompt words today are: watched, orientation, bizarre, integrity and appearance. Image by Rodion Kutsaev on Unsplash.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 