Life is hard for ev’ryone Stumbling. Deaf. Dumb. Blind Focus NOT on Number-One Be thoughtful. Be kind.
Humans can be inhumane- Ground up by the grind Bearing Christ or Mark of Cain Be thoughtful. Be kind.
Weary, weary, so exhausted Brawn, might — must I find? No! None should feel accosted! Be thoughtful. Be kind.
God, let me be supportive – Let me know Your mind Not strong-armed or extortive Be thoughtful. Be kind.
This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge. The Poet of the Week, Murisopsis (Val — congrats!!) challenged us to write a poem using the theme of our Creed or Spirituality. The poem must include a refrain.
I opted to keep trying Celtic forms. This one is the Cro Cumaisc Etir Casbairdni Ocus Lethrannaigecht.(Try saying that three times fast!) Below are the rules
Quatrain (or four-line) stanzas
Seven syllables in lines one and three; five syllables in lines two and four
Lines one and three end with a three-syllable word
The first time he accidentally hit his ball over their wall, he thought it was gone for good. He wasn’t even sure anyone was home. Within minutes, though, it came sailing back to him.
The second time he was again playing alone, throwing the ball up then quickly getting both hands on the bat to try to hit the ball.
His friends weren’t interested in American baseball.
“Too many rules,” they would say. “Strikes? Balls? Three of one and four of the other? It makes no sense.” “Where’s the wicket?”
Anyway, the second time he whacked the ball over the wall, he worried, but the ball was gently tossed back. Right to him. He wondered as he caught it, could they see him?
The third time he had been distracted by the noise coming from behind the wall. Laughter — odd, grunty laughter, but laughter nonetheless. Boisterous shouts in languages he didn’t know.
He inched his way closer, listening. He hit the ball the other way. Until he hit directly over the wall.
A silence settled on the other side. The ball did not come back.
The door opened and a tall gentleman in formal attire called to him, “Is this your ball?”
He went to retrieve it but the man didn’t hand him his ball. He ushered him in.
The boy heard the door lock behind him.
“Three strikes and you’re out,” said the man.
The boy looked at the odd array of monsters approaching him. His heart squeezed inside.
This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is easy: write no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.
He presses Himself to the wall. Guesses She won’t see him out of view — Boo!
So surpised! You! she yells, giggling disguised As annoyance, but she’s not Hot
She’s laughing! The fun is telegraphing A bond they share. It’s such prime Time.
’cause sometimes I think being scared (oft-times) Is half the fun… More than half! Laugh!
This is my response to this week’s W3 prompt. POW, Violet, gave us three quotes to choose from to incorporate into our poem — all having to do with “The Human Condition.” I chose a quote from Krystal Sutherland, House of Hollow: “Sometimes I think being scared is half the fun.”
I used a Celtic form called Deibide Baise Fri Toin. Syllable counts per line are 3-7-7-1. Lines 1 and 2 rhymes on 2 syllables. Lines 3 and 4 rhyme on one.
Health — yes, I’m pretty close to 100%. I even went swimming the other day.
Swimming — I think swimming is one of the best exercise out there. The only downside is that you have to get wet.
Birthdays — Am I thankful for birthdays? Really? I struggle with my birthday, not because of the number ticking up, but because it’s too much attention. Okay, so, if no one remembered my birthday that would bother me, too. In the meantime, I have to smile and seem flattered that people remembered. Last year, I was traveling on my birthday. I think I need to plan to do that every year.
Cinnamon rolls — I treated myself to one from Schneider’s Bakery on my birthday. I think they have 3000+ calories, but they are delicious.
Frederick Buechner — Ten years ago, when my brother passed away and we cleaned out his apartment, I found a box full of books by Frederick Buechner. I wrote about it in a post called Vultures. The other day I started reading The Yellow Leaves which is a collection of his essays. I find myself copying bits into my journal, like these words he wrote describing an encounter with FDR — “… even the mightiest amoung us can’t stand on our own. Unless we have someone to hold us, our flimsy legs buckle.”
Brian Doyle — I’m reading a collection of his essays called Reading in Bed. It’s filled with Brian Doyle’s brilliant wit and pithy practical writing advice, like this today: “The first great editor I worked for gave me a gnomic speech about how we do not use the word hopefully to begin a sentence here… then I worked for a genius editor whose driving theme was say something real, write true things, cut to the chase. More advice I have not forgotten (hopefully).”
Sunshine — finally. Glorious. Much appreciated
Pens — I love good pens, so a package of new colored pens was the perfect birthday gift.
Bird/squirrel feeders — cheap entertainment.
Cats — They are interesting creatures who allow us to love them. They deign to permit us to give them attention. Of late, one of my cats follows me into the bathroom in the middle of the night. You may pet me now, she says.
Oh, there were horses and unicorns on brass poles that rose and fell during the ride. The huge golden retriever seemed to be bounding home. The smirking goat went up and down. The pig did not. The swan with a graceful neck was stationary as was the toad.
The toad was greenish-brown, bumpy, and ugly. No one ever rode the toad. She felt sorry for him so one day, she climbed aboard.
On her first toad ride, she wasn’t expecting the total transformation of her surroundings when the carousel started to revolve. The organ music started, the platform picked up speed, and suddenly she was in a garden on a toad who hopped a time or two before unexpectedly shooting its tongue out to catch a fly.
As the platform slowed, the garden faded and she was back where she started.
“Can I ride again?” she begged her mom.
On the second ride, the toad hop-hop-hopped before stopping to grab a worm wiggling on the ground. the scene faded as the ride stopped.
After that, it was always the toad. At home, she read about toads: their habitats and their diet which she saw on every ride. She also learned about their means of protection.
One day when she was riding, the toad was hopping and encountered a yappy dog. She immediately knew what sticky stuff was coming out of the toad’s skin.
I wonder if toad-toxins kill, she thought.
This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge has only two rules: 1.) no more than 250 words, and 2.) use the photo as a prompt.
In my town, we have a beautiful carousel, handcarved by artists from around New York. It has quite an array of animals, but no toad.
The truest love involves more than giddy peaks, It’s listening, really listening, when the other speaks
Words are words are words. Heck, anyone could say them When there’s honest listening – that’s where love comes from
Words hit heart, hit home, when one looks between Beyond simple listening we sees what words can mean
To listen we must step aside and hear with more than ears Listening in that way leads to love that lasts for years
A sally is a jaunt off the beaten track And love is really listening even when words lack
This is my submission to the W3 challenge this week. The challenge was to write a Ghazal on the theme of Love. Here are the instructions for a Ghazal:
Made up of a chain of couplets, where each couplet is an independent poem;
It should be natural to put a comma at the end of the first line of each couplet;
The Ghazal has a refrain of one to three words that repeat, and an inline rhyme that precedes the refrain;
Lines 1 and 2, then every second line, have this refrain and inline rhyme;
The last couplet should refer to the author’s name;
The rhyming scheme is AA bA cA dA eA etc.
I read and read and read the instructions and, in the end, did only half of them. I wrote couplets, I had a refrain (though not at the end of the line), and the last couplet refers to my name. But the internal rhyme and the rhyme scheme? – Meh.
Ten Things of Thankful — for what it’s worth. I’m still not feeling 100%
I am thankful for 1sick time at work. Nobody even questioned my taking Monday, or working shortened days Wednesday through Friday. (I’ll get to Tuesday in a sec.)
“Do what you need to do.” “Take your time.” “It’s important that you give yourself time to recover.” These were all things I heard from my co-workers, along with offers to bring food. It was nice to feel seen and cared for.
On Tuesday, I had jury duty. I thought about calling and telling the court I was sick, but thought that sitting in a courtroom wouldn’t be physically taxing and if I went I wouldn’t have to use another sick day. Here are my jury duty thankfuls:
2The system — Big picture, I think it’s a pretty darn good system. There were ninety random people thrown into the courtroom that day. I recognized several: a physician, two swim-moms from my coaching days, a homeschool mom, and a retired greenhouse director. The randomness, the mix of backgrounds and education levels, all seemed to set a good stage for putting together a good jury.
(Sidenote: when accusations are made about “rigged” juries, I’m not sure how that can happen. The two attorneys can be pretty thorough sifting out people who may have serious biases.)
3The chairs in the jury box — I was called in the first round. The chairs were pretty darn comfortable. They were wide, cushioned, and they swiveled.
4Lunch — I didn’t bring lunch. My appetite has been off. As it turned out, though, we all had to leave the courthouse from noon to one. Fortunately, I knew where I could go in town for an easy lunch. At a little coffee shop, I got a bowl of soup which was perfect.
5I didn’t get selected for the jury. It was a sexual abuse case involving a father and his now-adult daughter. Honestly, I would have done it as a civic duty, but I’m glad that I didn’t have to listen to that testimony.
6The Kingston Trio — I have a friend with a functional CD player. “Got any CDs?” he asked me earlier this week. Actually, yes, I do — shoeboxes full. I brought him an odd mix of Scottish music, the Beatles played by the Boston Pops, and The Kingston Trio. Oh, The Kingston Trio — I LOVE The Kingston Trio. It had been years and years since I had listened, but I still knew every word of every song. For your listening enjoyment, here’s a sweet Kingston Trio song:
I read multiple books at a time. Non-fiction, for the most part, so it’s easy to read a little section and then let it simmer in soup-pot at the back of my brain. Three books/authors that I’m currently reading and am thankful for: 7The Yellow Leaves by Frederick Buechner, 8Reading in Bed by Brian Doyle, and 9Draft No. 4 by John McPhee.
From my window, I’ve been watching a flock of 10wild turkeys gathering daily near the river. They strut around. Some roost in the trees. Occasionally one will spread his wings wide in a gesture of big-ness. I am terrible at estimating distances, but I’d say that it’s more than a football field away. Turkeys are pretty unmistakable, though, even from that distance. Anyway, I finally dug out my father’s binoculars so I could really observe them — and I set the binoculars by the window. Of course, I haven’t seen the turkeys since then. Still, I’m thankful. And I’m ready.
So shattered Everything that mattered Broken, unfixable, trashed Dashed
One person Opts to better, not worsen Fashion, build, construct, un-break Make
When you might think all is lost That all pieces should be tossed Giving up has higher cost
This is my response to this week’s W3 Challenge. Here are the guidelines given by the Poet of the Week:
THEME: Write a poem to encourage someone not to give up—urging them to persevere, try again, or push forward for just one more time or day;
STRUCTURE: Use no more than 11 lines;
Choose any form or rhyme scheme you prefer;
Optional Inspiration:Consider drawing inspiration from the image and/or statement by artist Glen Martin Taylor above;
If you do include Glen Martin Taylor’s statement or repost the image, please give proper credit to the artist.
There’s an unpronounceable Celtic form called Deibide Baise Fri Toin. Syllable counts per line are 3-7-7-1. Lines 1 and 2 rhymes on 2 syllables. Lines 3 and 4 rhyme on one. So I wrote two of those plus three more 7-syllable lines that all rhyme with each other. Total lines = 11.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 