Salty like hot dogs (and tears). Sweet like marmalade (and life).
Kind dealing
Comes not through whim or feeling
But a choice to act with tact —
Fact
This poem is in response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Whim. It’s an Irish form called Deibide Baise Fri Toin which is written in quatrains with the following syllable count per line: 3-7-7-1 . The rhyme scheme is aabb, with the first two lines rhyming on a two syllable word and the last lines rhyming on a one syllable word.
The duke was worn out. All this walking was exhausting. He sat on a park bench while his companions went down the hill looking for a shop to purchase some food.
A young woman passed him and sat down at the picnic table across the dirt path. She pulled from her bag a biscuit which she began to eat.
The duke called over to her, “Give me a biscuit.”
He offered no pleasantries, no polite greeting, no polite asking, just ‘give me’.
Her head jerked up. She looked at him through narrowed eyes. Finally she said, “How is it that you, a man unknown to me and of a different people, ask me for a biscuit?”
He smiled at her. At that instant he knew exactly who she was, a disgraced princess from a neighboring kingdom. He replied, “If you knew the person asking you for a biscuit, you would have asked him instead for something you need desperately, because he has the means to give you what you need most.”
The pauses in their conversation were long and palpable. She studied his face, his clothing, his dusty shoes. Finally she spoke again, “Sir, I can see that you have nothing. You are alone. Do you have something more than the baker in the town who gave me these biscuits?”
“When you eat a biscuit,” he replied, “it sustains for a time. You have other needs as well. What I have is a forever resource.”
“Okay,” she replied, “I’ll take the bait. Give me some of whatever it is you have.”
“Call your husband and come back to me,” he said.
“I don’t have a husband,” she answered.
His mouth curved into a slight smile as he chuckled. “I know that. You have struggled in that area of your life. You’ve left your husband and the man you are with now is not your husband.”
Her eyes widened. She had been found out. She couldn’t identify the flurry of feelings causing her heart to race. Was it panic? Happiness at no longer having to hide? Fear of consequences?
“I am the Duke,” he said. “I know your whole story. Words of accusation on a sheet of paper only tell a small part of who you are. I will keep you safe.”
This is my response to today’s MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie & #Wordle where the challenge is to weave a bunch of prompt words into a post. Today’s words are: biscuit, passed, duke, found, slight, princess, curved, sheet, alone, downhill, happy, companion.
Some Bible stories haunt me. I’ve spent years thinking about the man who tells Jesus, “Sir, I have no one,” in response to Jesus asking him if he wants to be healed. (John 5)
Lately the woman at the well has been haunting my thoughts. (John 4) This is a (sort-of) retelling of that story.
I’m writing from above the clouds over Canada on my way to visit my son in British Columbia.
I had looked at the theme for Song Lyric Sunday — a song that celebrates sandy beaches — and started scouring my brain and my list of Beach Boys songs.
Can I be honest here? I’m not beachy person.
The Beach Boys song I kept going back to had nothing to do with beaches — but I knew that Brian Wilson had written the Pet Sounds album largely from his sandbox — in his living room — with his piano placed in the sandbox so he could feel the sand between his toes while he wrote. For that album, he wrote the song, “God Only Knows” with Ted Asher in less than an hour. It is my all time favorite Beach Boys song.
But the song doesn’t mention sand or beaches or anything.
And I’m in an airplane flying over Canada.
After the border crossing, while driving in Canada, some people passed in their pickup truck and made awful faces at us. Honestly, it made me laugh.
I mean, yes, I’m from New York. But Lake Ontario will be Lake Ontario to me no matter what anyone says.
And Canadians are the nicest people in the world no matter what anyone says.
So I hearkened back to an Arrogant Worms song called “Rocks and Trees.”
What is sand but ground up rocks?
And what is a beach but those ground up rocks near water?
So basically Canada is one big beach, right?
Lyrics:
My country’s bigger than most
And if asked I boast
‘Cause I’m really proud
So I shout it loud
Though our numbers are few
We will welcome you
Although we don’t have history
Gold medal winning teams
Heroes or prisoners
World famous volcanoes
Still what we’ve got’s glorious
‘Cause we’ve got
Rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And water
All right, everyone!
We’ve got
Rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And rocks and trees
And trees and rocks
And water
In Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada,
Ca-an-a-da, Can-a-da.
Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada, Canada,
Ca-an-a-da, Canada.
I’m going to put this here, too. It’s a song about dependency and vulnerability and the complex relationships we have with those we love most.
Besides, God only knows where we’d be without Canada — and I don’t want to find out.
Modular home – not for me
Standardized rooms feel empty
Hobbit house fills me with glee
Better yet – home in a tree
This 3-story treehouse is somewhere near Revelstoke, British Columbia.
This is my second attempt at a Tanaga which is a traditional Filipino poetic form, similar in its brevity and depth to the Japanese haiku. It often uses rich metaphor, or talinghaga, to offer wisdom, advice, or vivid imagery. There is absolutely no wisdom or advice in my Tanaga — just a cool treehouse.
The rules for a tanaga are:
This is also my response to the RDP prompt: Modular
Shadows fall upon us all
Currents carve, water erodes
Creating cliffs strong and tall
Wisdom worn bears heavy loads
For this week’s W3 , we are challenged to write a tanaga inspired by the theme “Life and Wisdom.” Explore the lessons we learn from living, the choices we make, and the experiences that shape us. Even a simple image from nature can become a metaphor for a deeper truth or moral lesson.
The tanaga is a traditional Filipino poetic form, similar in its brevity and depth to the Japanese haiku. It often uses rich metaphor, or talinghaga, to offer wisdom, advice, or vivid imagery.
Your tanaga should follow these guidelines:
Whatever you do in life, surround yourself with smart people who’ll argue with you.
John Wooden
January 12, 2015 I wrote that quote as the start of a post and never wrote any more. It sat there in my draft for 11 1/2 years, until today when then Ragtag Daily Prompt (RDP) was the word “whatever.“
John Wooden was an American basketball coach. He is considered one of the greatest coaches of all time. When I was coaching swimming, I read some of his books, and found him to be so wise.
That quote encapsulates something I believe so strongly. I remember telling my high school swimmers that their competitors are there to help them swim their best time. I still remember a moment when I saw that in action.
It was the league championship meet. One team, Delhi, always dominated. I had been told when I took over coaching that we would never beat them and that the previous coach’s goal had been to score x-number of points. I thought that was a silly goal and that we should work to be the league champion.
Anyway, it was the league championship meet. The score was incredibly close.
The second to last event in a high school meet is the 100 yd breaststroke. I knew we didn’t stand a chance to win it, but if we did, we could win the meet. Delhi had an amazing breaststroker. My breaststroker, a girl named Becky, was good, but not that good.
When the girls dove in at the start, Becky had a good start. Her pullout was good. She looked strong, but she was clearly behind. At each successive turn, Becky pulled closer to that lead swimmer. In final 25, Becky came on so strong, it still brings tears to my eyes as I remember it.
Becky was right there — RIGHT THERE — at the finish, and the Delhi swimmer out-touched her. That win for Delhi meant that winning the championship was out of reach for us. (That year. The next year we won it.)
But in that moment, I watched Becky do something I will never forget.
Becky turned and looked at the times on the scoreboard. With the biggest grin on her face, she reached over the lane line to shake hands with the swimmer who had won. I watched Becky say thank you to the girl who just won.
When she got out of the water, she said, “You were right, coach! That swimmer helped me swim my best time.”
And it was a best time by a lot.
The championship was small potatoes compared to the lesson I saw played out. People who are smarter, stronger, faster help us become better versions of ourselves. They push us and challenge us.
Writing this out made me think of this movie scene from As Good As It Gets
And all this is to say, that maybe, just maybe, Mark Carney can help someone in the US government be a better man.
“There was this huge monkey, I tell you, HUGE,” said the old man. His rough unshaven face, the bit of spittle leaking down the left side of his mouth, the crust in the corners of his eyes all spoke of age and hardship.
The young man was busy writing. He glanced up at the old man as if giving him permission to continue.
“The monkey was in the back of the trailer. It had a shit-eatin’ grin on its face and a shovel in its hand,” the man continued, balling up his right fist as if demonstrating how the monkey held the shovel.
The young man continued to write.
“I was feared it was goin’ to grab the cash. Y’know, the cash was just sittin’ right out there by the birthday cake,” said the man, pointing to an imaginary table with a cake and cash.
The young man put his pen down and looked at the older man. “Mr. Smith,” he started to say, but the old man interrupted him.
“That damn monkey was gonna carry away MY birthday cash, MY birthday cake!” he shouted. “It was TOO MUCH!”
He tried to get out of his chair, but the restraining belt held him in place. He struggled, his hands gripping and pressing against the arm of the chair.
His exertions were loud and drew attention from the others in the room. They had all been mildly watching the morning news on the communal television, and he was now far more interesting than that.
“Mr. Smith,” the young man said again, “it’s time for your meds.” He took out a hypodermic needle and called over his shoulder, “Nurse, I might need a little help today.”
This is my response to the Monday Wordle where we are invited to use a specific list of words in prose or poetry.
Today’s list: cash, huge, monkey, much, grin, shovel, birthday, carry, took, back, trailer, grab
I read the list. I saw the story. I wrote it down.
This week’s theme for Song Lyric Sunday is to find a song that mentions bare, birthday suit, buff, exposed, liberated, naked, naturist, nude, or skin. The song I chose — Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini — doesn’t mention any of those words, and yet I think it fits the prompt.
Bryan Hyland made it a hit in 1960. The songwriter, Paul Vance, wrote the words after watching his 2 year old daughter playing on the beach in small yellow bikini. I remember hearing the song as a kid and loving it. It made me laugh — mostly because I could relate.
The bikini debuted in 1946. If you’re interested in the history of the bikini, it’s all here on History.com: Bikini Introduced
Have I worn a bikini? Maybe yes — but it was a long time ago. Eight kids later, I don’t think I would even try. I’ll take my one-piece suit, thank you very much.
Just the other day, one of my daughters told me about being cat-called. She’s a beautiful girl so I’m not surprised. “I don’t like it,” she said. I’m not surprised at that either.
Women want to be seen for who they are — which is so much more than their body. I’m not sure going topless would change that. The Song Lyric Sunday theme was chosen because to acknowledge “Go Topless Day.” I, for one, will keep my top on and wear my one-piece swimsuit.
Lyrics:
She was afraid to come out of the locker
She was as nervous as she could be
She was afraid to come out of the locker
She was afraid that somebody would see
Two, three, four
Tell the people what she wore
It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
That she wore for the first time today
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
So, in the locker, she wanted to stay
Two, three, four
Stick around we’ll tell you more
(Bop, bop, bop, bop, bop-op-op-op-op-op-op)
She was afraid to come out in the open (bop-op-op-op)
And so a blanket around her she wore (bop-op-op-op)
She was afraid to come out in the open (bop-op-op-op)
And so she sat, bundled up on the shore (bop-op-op-op)
Two, three, four
Tell the people what she wore
It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
That she wore for the first time today
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
So, in the blanket, she wanted to stay
Two, three, four
Stick around we’ll tell you more
(Bop, bop, bop, bop, bop-op-op-op-op-op-op)
Now she’s afraid to come out of the water (bop-op-op-op)
And I wonder what she’s gonna do (bop-op-op-op)
Now she’s afraid to come out of the water (bop-op-op-op)
And the poor little girl’s turning blue (bop-op-op-op)
Two, three, four
Tell the people what she wore
It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
That she wore for the first time today
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
So, in the water, she wanted to stay
From the locker to the blanket
From the blanket to the shore
From the shore to the water
Guess there isn’t any more
Songwriters: Paul Vance / Lee Julien Pockriss
The music we hear as a child shapes us, doesn’t it? Last week, I wrote about “Night on Bald Mountain” in response to the Saturday Stream of Consciousness prompt. I can still picture the sleeve for the vinyl record we had.
This week, as soon as I saw the prompt, starts with gl–, my mind went to a song that my father used to play. He loved a Scottish tenor named Kenneth McKellar. If I close my eyes, I can still hear “Roamin’ in the Gloamin'” sung in that magnificent voice.
I remember asking my father what gloaming is. It’s evening or dusk. The song is about a fellow walking at that time of day with his sweetheart.
I think dawn and dusk ARE the prettiest times of day. There’s something about the liminal time, when it’s not quite one thing or the other, that makes it magical.
As the song says, “When the sun has gone to rest, that’s the time that we love best — Oh, it’s lovely roamin’ in the gloamin’.”
created using AI
(For clarity sake — the picture was created using AI. The poem is 100% me.)
Deep inhale
Seventy-eight years travail
For what to wish? A new roof?
[poof]
I’m confused
One candle still lit! Excused
Not extinguished. Did I goof?
[Foof]
Voice speaking
From the flame. Eerie. Creaking.
“ElAinE” – glimpse of frilly rouche
[SWoosh]
If even
I blow harder, believing
It will work, I hear “SHhhHsh“
[WHOosh]
Oh, terror!
Who is this message bearer?
She speaks again — one word — “iF“
[WHIFF]
“iF ToDaY“
TODAY?? Today is my day?
My lungs are squeezing for breath —
Death?
[gasp weakly]
NO! It can’t end so bleakly!
At once — candle smoke, voice spoke
“jOkE!“
This week’s W3 is an interesting prompt:
An old woman blows out 78 candles on her birthday cake, but one refuses to go out, no matter how hard she blows. It burns with a blue flame and whispers a name she hasn’t heard in 40 years. Your poem is her conversation with that candle. What does she decide to do: let it keep burning, or pinch it out?
I found the prompt challenging and didn’t exactly follow it.
The form I used was Deibide Baise Fri Toin, an Irish form. It is written in quatrains with the following syllable count per line: 3-7-7-1 . The rhyme scheme is aabb, with the first two lines rhyming on a two syllable word and the last lines rhyming on a one syllable word.
The last word in the first five stanzas is supposed to be the sound of her attempting to blow out the candles.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 