That crescent Half-hidden, luminescent Resting on clouds in un-stark Dark
Moon inspires Because it only requires Mass gravity sun to be Free
It’s waxing Now – growing, growing. Maxing At full. Sun reflected bright Light
Such beauty The moon is never snooty! It brings delight to the sky [sigh]
My desire — Be like the moon and conspire To make people smile when they see Me
This is my contribution to the W3 prompt this week. This week’s Poet of the Week, Sheila Bair, challenged us to write a poem exactly 64 words in length that incorporates the words “light” and “dark”.
Done. This is a Celtic forms, Deibide Baise Fri Toin (don’t ask me to pronounce it), an Irish form with an aabb rhyme scheme and syllable count of 3-7-7-1 for each stanza. The first two lines rhyme on a 2 syllable word and the last two lines rhyme on one syllable..
I LOVE the moon. I really do. More than once I have thought about the fact that when we see the moon, we are actually seeing the sun’s reflection. Of course that begs the question — what am I reflecting? Dear God, let me reflect things that bring joy to others.
When the bag holding the box came through the security scan at the airport, she quickly retrieved it. She was so relieved that nobody had questioned the contents.
As she walked the concourse to find her gate, another traveler had bumped hard against the bag. She quickly stopped and checked to make sure the contents were still secure.
After boarding, she held the bag on her lap.
“Would you like me to put that in the overhead compartment?” the stewardess asked.
She shook her head. “I’d prefer to hold it,” she said.
“You can’t have it on your lap during take-off or landing,” the stewardess said, “but you can put it on the floor if it will fit under the seat ahead of you.”
She folded the excess bag over the box and it neatly fit in the prescribed spot. After take0ff and before landing, she held the box on her lap again, cradling it protectively.
When the plane landed, she retrieved her checked suitcase. She wheeled the suitcase and carried the bag to a City Cab which drove her to the house.
She found the key under the mat where it always was and went inside. Leaving the suitcase in the kitchen, she carefully removed the box from the bag and headed outside.
The rocky shoreline was just how she remembered it. She found a place to sit and opened the box.
As the wind lifted ashes from the open box, she whispered, “I brought you home, Mom.”
This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is simple if you’re a person of few words. Write no more than 250 words using the photo as a prompt. I could easily have used at least 100 more this time.
My mom becaused me when I whyed I think I drove her bonkers Her dementia was NOT payback Because, you know, love conquers
I really didn’t how alot I whyed and whyed and whyed Now I who and date-of-birth And where do you reside
My employer moneys me It’s not my motivation And when I nice those in my office It’s for more than information
I love when people story me Their travels far and near And when older farmers farmer me And tell of their John Deere
But let me backtrack to the whying It’s just something that I do — Other moves towards friendship The more I understand you
This is my response to the W3 prompt this week. The prompt involved verbing words like “because”. Melissa provided a list of words and we could choose five.
I used: because, how, money, nice, and farmer (which I know now was a misread — it’s actually former).
Iain thought, Yeah, and are you a tourist, by chance?
Aloud he replied, “Aye,” and continued playing his mandolin.
“You know, I’ve had this question for a long time. What IS the Scottish national anthem?” the man asked.
Iain didn’t look up, but started strumming Flower of Scotland.
The man started singing, “O, flower of Scotland, when will we see your like again…” His voice was amazing. “That was the first one I thought of! I was right!”
But Iain smoothly switched to Loch Lomond.
The man joined in singing when he got to the chorus, “O ye’ll tak’ the high road, and I’ll tak’ the low road.” His inflection was spot on. And, oh, what a voice!
“So Loch Lomond is the anthem?” the man asked.
Iain didn’t answer. He started playing Caledonia.
Sure enough, the man joined him at the chorus, “Let me tell you that I love you and I think about you all the time.”
His tenor was impeccable. People were starting to gather.
The man said, “I thought it should be Scotland the Brave. I love to hear pipes playing it.”
Iain started strumming Scotland the Brave and the man sang, “Hark when the night is falling…”
He knew every word. When he finished the chorus, “…Land of my heart forever, Scotland the brave,” the gathered crowd burst into applause.
And it wasn’t for Iain.
This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a simple challenge: Write no more than 250 words based on the photo prompt.
True story — politics are making me bonkers and, like an idiot, I keep listening to the news.
So the other day, instead of news, I looked up a now-retired podcast called “Thistle Do Nicely” because I knew that listening to Rory, Chris, and Jonny would make me laugh. Really, it has to be my favorite podcast ever. Listening to Thistle Do Nicely is like sitting in a pub and listening to three Scottish guys sitting at the next table talking and laughing. They’re funny. A little crude. A little off-color. So much better than politics.
And, in truth, that wasn’t the episode I listened to this week. I’m relying on faulty memory regarding the National Anthem episode. Last week I actually listened to a Christmas episode because I just wanted to hear their voices.
I was walking home, lost in thought. These streets are so familiar — yes, I could walk them with my eyes closed.
Or in the dark.
October days keep getting shorter. Now I walk beneath the light of the moon and the occasional streetlight.
So I was walking home and there was my old friend John, emerging from the alley.
“John O’Reilly!” I said. “I was just thinking about you! It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Karen?” he said, studying my face. “It HAS been years.”
“Just yesterday,” I said, “I was thinking about that day that we skipped school together. That was probably 15 years ago. It’s funny, isn’t it? How you think of someone and then there they are!”
He laughed. Well, it was more of a snort, but that’s how he laughs. Even that sound brought back a host of memories.
“Remember how we ducked out after getting off the bus? We didn’t go into the school — we just headed down to the river.”
“I think that was the last time I was barefoot,” he said.
“That’s what made me think of it!” I said. “Yesterday I cut my hand washing dishes and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. You gashed your foot on something in the river, remember? Broken glass? But you bled like bejeebers and it wouldn’t stop.”
His silence was deafening. I looked up at him, seeing him beyond my fog of memory.
His hands were covered with blood.
This is my submission to the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is quite simple: write no more that 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.
Two cats share an old chair by the woodstove An orange tabby and a calico They stretch and bask, sometimes paws interwove One wakes and grooms the other, licking slow
They eat their food together from a bowl Or crouch together watching some poor bird Sometimes they argue ’bout who gets the mole Mostly they don’t care who gets the last word
Companions would be an inadequate Description for this cat-relationship So bonded in a way that’s not clearcut Expressing joy wtih purr and lick and nip
They are true friends — someone with whom they can Just be themselves without ulterior plan
This is my submission for the W3 prompt this week: write a sonnet on the theme of friendship.
“Just hold out the grass on the palm of your hand,” Mom said, demonstrating the open palm to Iain.
Timidly he did it, taking baby steps forward until the heifer snuffled her warm wet snout onto his hand, licking the grass off. He laughed at the sensation: the smooth snout, the strong rough tongue.
“I grew up next to a dairy farm,” Mom said. “It’s where that housing development is now.”
“You were so lucky,” Iain said. “Why do we have to live in a city?”
“Your father has a good job there,” his mother replied.
“Are they [tipping his head toward the heifers] really where we get our milk?” he asked.
“Yup,” she replied.
“But I don’t see the thing they squeeze to get the milk out,” he said.
“These are heifers,” she explained, “young cows that haven’t had their own calf yet. They don’t have full udders until after they calve.”
He puzzled on it and bent his head sideways to try to look underneath. Sure enough, there were teats but no udder.
“Where’s the dad?” he asked. “We learned at school about babies. It takes a mom and a dad, right?”
“Bulls are dangerous,” she explained. “They use AI.”
“ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE?!?” he said incredulously. “Like aliens??”
She laughed. “No! Artificial insemination.”
“What’s that?” he asked. “How does it work?”
She gulped and reddened. “A picture would be easier,” she said.
Back home, she looked up the following picture on her computer.
“Ewwww!” he said.
This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. Just write no more than 250 words based on the photo prompt.
Several years ago, I wrote a poem about growing up next to a dairy farm and the experience we had when our pet heifer wandered over. Here’s the poem:
When my parents bought the farm (literally) Pa Jackson was over the hill (euphemistically and literally)
He milked the cows by hand While the barn cats tumbled in the hay (euphemistically and literally) I watched with wide eyes (the milking, not the euphemistic tumbling)
The Jacksons had a bull To do the job of the artificial inseminator And when our pet heifer, Sock-it-to-me-Sunshine, Wandered over To get to know the Jacksons’ cows (literally) The bull also got to know her (euphemistically)
Then, our heifer Was in the family way (euphemistically) She was loaded on a truck And sent to a home For unwed cows
The next summer The Jackson’s cows Were also loaded onto trucks And sent to auction Because Pa Jackson was Extremely Over the hill (euphemistically)
A few years later We read in the newspaper That he had bought the farm. (euphemistically)
And here’s the pet heifer with one of my brothers.
The howling Ah-rooyip, yip (no growling) Wakes me. Or does it? So near! Hear?
And owling hoo-HOO hoo-HOO (no growling) Out my window, I hear life Rife
With wildness Foxes scream – WRAAAAGH! – no mildness (Or growling) Look at the dark! Hark!
It’s early But day is alive, surly Lonely, looking, using sound Found
In darkness Life not visible, starkness Yet teeming, streaming. New day — Yay!
This is my response to this week’s W3. POW Lesley Scoble challenged us to: Create a poetic scene, based on this imagery: It is early morning. You get out of bed and go to the window.
Here’s the thing, though — I go to work at 5 AM, so I get up at 3:30 AM. When I get out of bed and look out the window, I’m mostly looking at darkness. Or the moon. I have written a poem or two about the moon.
For this, though, my getting-out-of-bed moments of late are full of sounds, so I wrote about them.
The coyotes have been so active and loud. And the owls. Fortunately, I don’t heard the fox scream often, but I did the other morning, as I lay in bed thinking about getting up.
Morning — even early early morning when it is still dark — is my favorite time of day.
The poetic form is an unpronounceable Irish form: Deibide Baise Fri Toin. Quatrains. 3-7-7-1 syllables. Rhyme scheme aabb: lines 1 and 2 rhyme on two syllables, lines 3 and 4 rhyme on one.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I (I should be telling this with a sigh) Stood at that fork and took it Hey Yogi! Hey Raffi! Look it! Look it! Look it! You know what came next? (What came next?) A knife and spoon! (clink, clink) So I kept on walking down the road With a fork-knife-spoon as my load
On Saturday I was supposed to go to a poetry reading. Mind you, I have done that only once before in my life and it was a terrifying experience. Thankfully an excuse presented itself and I bowed out. The friend who had invited me offered to read my poems for me. I gave her two — neither of which had been the poem I planned to read.
She messaged me later, telling me that the poems were well-received, that I was a rare talent.
To prove her wrong, I’m going to go ahead and publish last week’s tripe, my response to the W3 prompt. The POW gave a lovely challenge: to use 1-2 lines from Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.”
Unfortunately Yogi Berra infiltrated my brain regarding that poem. Yogi once said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” It’s one of many Yogi-isms for which he is famous. Like, “It ain’t over, ’til it’s over,” and “You can observe a lot by watching.”
Suddenly, too, while writing, I was doing battle with Raffi, who kept singing at me (in my head) about a time he went for a walk.
Sheesh.
Sometimes the muses either just aren’t there or are a couple of clowns.
Earlier today, I had had a conversation with someone who remarked how he still remembered and leaned on that rule.
“Kind of weird,” I said.
He didn’t get it.
Weird is such a great word — and it’s weird that it doesn’t follow the rule, even when the rhyme is completed — “or when sounded ay as in neighbor and weigh.” We don’t pronounce it wayrd. Weird.
I looked the rule up to make sure I was saying it right. There is funny stuff out in internetland.
How about this one: “I before E unless you leisurely deceive eight overweight heirs to forfeit their sovereign conceits.”
Weird, right?
Ooh, ooh! Here’s another: “I before E except when your foreign neighbors Keith and Heidi receive eight counterfeit beigh sleighs from feisty caffeinated weightlifters. Weird.”
I had to look up the word beigh: a provincial governor in the Ottoman empire. I suppose an alternate spelling to Bey.
Or maybe they meant beige.
Or maybe I misread it — I am, after all, trying to do stream-of-consciousness writing, not look-up-funny-things-and-copy-them writing.
Good golly, there are a lot of them. They refer to overweight reindeer and beige sleighs involved in heists.
I kind of stream-of-consciously wrote this last night and meant to post it, but I fell asleep.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 