A Poetry Prompt and a Stream of Consciousness Prompt Met in a Bar

November 7, 2026November 7, 2026 Sally2 Comments

The Stream of Consciousness Saturday word this week is notebook.

The W³ prompt for this week was to borrow the first line from another poem to use as the start of your own.

What if, I wondered this morning, I take those two prompts and mush them together?

For instance: Two roads diverged in a yellow notebook. (Sorry, Robert Frost.)

What would that look like? I picture an artist drawing a notebook — because that’s what they happened to have with them when they encountered a scene they wanted to remember. So they started drawing one road coming up from the left hand corner and another road coming up from the right. Where would they meet?

Oh wait, I just made the roads CONverging, not DIverging. I’d have to turn my notebook upside-down.

How about this one: Listen, my children, and you shall hear of the midnight notebook of Paul Revere. (Sorry, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.)

What if Paul Revere was not a man of action but a man who believed that the pen was mightier than the sword? I mean, I DO believe that words are mighty, but I’m grateful that Paul Revere rode to every Middlesex village and farm to spread the alarm instead just writing his grievances in a notebook.

How about: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s notebook? (Sorry, William Shakespeare)
A lot of the romance is gone in that one! As much as I love notebooks, I would NOT want to be compared to one, even a summer one.

Here are a few more (without my blather). Submit your own in the comments —

i thank You God for most this amazing
notebook
(e.e. cummings)

The notebook is too much with us, late and soon
(William Wordsworth)

So much depends
upon
a red note
book
(William Carlos Williams)

Ooh! One more — but it’s a children’s book (one of my favorites)

Once there was a notebook….
And she loved a little boy
(Shel Silverstein)

That one has a lot of potential for a story about a future writer, don’t you think?

Thanks, Linda Hill, Josie Holford and David Bogomolny for a fun prompt!

poetry

Tweedy

November 6, 2026 Sally9 Comments

In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines
Lived a little gray cat all covered with lines
She made her home behind the wall
Came out to play when she was called

Her muted tabby stripes became
The reason for her silly name
They called her Tweedy – you know, like tweed
It suited her well, all agreed

Tweedy had a bouncing gait
Light on her feet
At pouncing — great!

She bouncy-pounced around the house
Until the day there came a mouse
Who ventured in, and up, behind
The wall to Tweedy’s lair — unkind!

Behind the wall Tweedy had no pounce
Behind the wall Tweedy had no bounce
So nose-to-nose with visiting mouse
Tweedy growled and hissed and groused

Then little mouse spoke in his little mouse voice
“Don’t be like this! You have a choice —
We could be friends, you and I.
Sip some tea. Nibble on pie.”

Tweedy stopped her growl and hiss
Said to the mouse, “I’ve been remiss.
Yes, let’s go out into the kitchen
I’ll see if I can find a smidgeon.”

So out they went from Tweedy’s space
Into the big wide kitchen place
“Bet you don’t weigh even an ounce,”
Tweedy said — and then she pounced

“Delicious!” she purred a few minutes later
Not feeling the least bit like a traitor.
There’s an old house in Paris covered with vines
Guarded by cat with muted gray lines

This week’s W3 is brought by Josie.

Every poem begins somewhere. Sometimes, all it takes is a single line to set our imagination in motion. But what happens when that first line belongs to someone else?

For this prompt, I invite you to borrow the opening line of any poem, famous or obscure, and use it as the starting point for a poem of your own.

You can keep as much of the original poem’s voice, rhythm, tone, form, or imagery as you like, or leave it all behind and head in a completely different direction. Be serious or playful, thoughtful or mischievous, quiet or outrageous. The important thing is to let your own voice shine through.

I kind of cheated by using the first line of Madeline by Ludwig Bemelmans. It’s a children’s book (which I love) but it’s also a poem. The best children’s books have that rhymey lilty rhythm that makes them so fun to read aloud.

A friend of mine has a new cat that likes to hide behind the wall in the basement. Her name is Luna — but Tweedy is very much modeled after her.

Uncategorized

Stirling Psycho

November 1, 2026 Sally12 Comments

Today’s Song Lyric Sunday is to find a song that was written or performed by someone who was born in the month of November.

This may be a stretch, but I’m going with Tina Weymouth (DOB 11/22/1950) who was a founding member of Talking Heads. She is credited with co-writing Psycho Killer. Her writing contribution was the French thrown into the song (Qu’est-ce que c’est?) along with playing the bass that is so integral to the song.

I was a teenager in the ’70s when this song was a hit. Did I listen to it then? No. Did I listen to Talking Heads? No. I’m late to this party.

I stumbled into Psycho Killer via a Scottish band called Stramash. They have a song called Stirling Psycho.

When I typed “Stirling Psycho” into the search bar, I had AI questioning me.

Did I mean “Stirling Psychology” and want to learn about the Department of Psychology at the University of Stirling? — No, I did not.

Did I mean “stir-psycho” which is prison slang for stir-crazy? — No, I did not.

Did I mean “Clarice Starling”, the iconic FBI trainee who squares off against a psychopath in the legendary psychological thriller The Silence of the Lambs? — No, I did not.

I meant Stirling Psycho, a song by Stramash, a Celtic/Folk/Rock Band. They fuse traditional Scottish songs with rock songs, like, say, taking Stirling Brig, a traditional ballad about The Battle of Stirling Bridge in 1297, and riffing into Psycho Killer, a song by Talking Heads.

Here are all the things I love about this song:

It’s an earworm. Be prepared.
The Stramash version is a fusion of two different stories/sounds/cultures. We need more reaching across the aisle, don’t you think?
The Talking Heads video is just funny. There’s no blood or gore, just suggested/relatable psycho-crazy.

The Stramash version is 8 minutes (it includes Stirling Brig). I recommend Talking Heads’ Psycho Killer video which is a little over 4 minutes; as I said above, the video is fun/funny. Choose your poison. Maybe I shouldn’t say that. It makes me sound like a psycho killer.

The lyrics are at the end.

Lyrics

I can’t seem to face up to the facts
I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax
I can’t sleep ’cause my bed’s on fire
Don’t touch me, I’m a real live wire

Psycho Killer
Qu’est-ce que c’est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away, oh-oh-oh
Psycho Killer
Qu’est-ce que c’est?
Fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, better
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away, oh, oh, oh, oh
Ay-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya, ooh

You start a conversation, you can’t even finish it
You’re talking a lot, but you’re not saying anything
When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed
Say something once, why say it again?

Ce que j’ai fait, ce soir-là
Ce qu’elle a dit, ce soir-là
Réalisant mon espoir
Je me lance vers la gloire, okay
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
We are vain and we are blind
I hate people when they’re not polite

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Chris Frantz / David Byrne / Tina Weymouth
Psycho Killer lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc

fiction · Writing

Probably

September 21, 2026 Sally5 Comments

Probably Preston Jones quietly closed the door behind him. It was a new day, the start of a new week, in a new place.

The noise and hurry of a new city was a gamble. A faster pace, yes, and no familiar faces.

Except, of course, his girl friend.

“Probably,” she had said firmly, “no one will know.”

Ah, but they would. He knew that — and it made him tremble. He allowed the memories to crowd in again, then made a conscious choice to let go of the hurt.

He pressed the elevator button to take him to the sixth floor. The ambient music did nothing to calm his nerves.

When he got off the elevator, the receptionist greeted him. “Preston Jones?”

He nodded.

“Just a few formalities,” she said. “We need to verify your insurance.”

He saw the machine on her desk which he knew she would feed the card into. He hoped that she wouldn’t look at it carefully.

But she did.

She studied the card and looked back at him. She looked confused. “Mr. Jones, I need some further verfication that this is your card,” she said.

The elevator door opened again behind him. Another person entered the reception area. Probably grabbed the card out of her hand and ran to the open elevator, quickly pressing the button to go to the lobby again.

“You okay, man?” asked another person in the elevator, detecting the stress in the newest passenger.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” said Probably, starting down at his insurance card that read “Probably Preston Jones.” It matched his driver’s license.

Would he have to spend the rest of his life explaining that his mother named him Probably?

This is my response to MLMM’s Wordle challenge this week in which we are challenged to use these words in a post: machine, tremble, quietly, detect, firm, hurt, noise, hurry, pace, pressed, let, music.

Life · Music

Leaving on a Jet Plane

September 20, 2026 Sally5 Comments

I am late to the party, but this week’s Song Lyric Sunday is to post a song that has to do with withdrawing or moving away. The song that immediately came to mind was “Leaving on a Jet Plane” — and I was quite sure that at least three other people would have already posted that song.

As of this writing, I didn’t see that anyone else had posted it.

Who knew that John Denver actually wrote the song? I grew up listening to folk music like the Kingston Trio and Peter, Paul and Mary. Peter, Paul and Mary performed the version that I best remember.

John Denver wrote it in 1966 and called it “Babe, I Hate to Go.” According to Wikipedia, he made several copies and gave it out as a Christmas present that year. At the urging of his then-producer, Milt Okun, he changed the name in 1967 to “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”

Peter, Paul and Mary picked it up in 1967 and put it on their album “Album 1700.” It was released as a single in 1969 when it became a hit.

Did I understand this song at the ripe old age of 9 or 10 when I first heard it? No.

Did I listen to it often enough that I learned and still know every single word? Yes.

Lyrics:

[Verse 1]
All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go
I’m standin’ here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye
But the dawn is breakin’ it’s early morn
The taxi’s waitin’, he’s blowin’ his horn
Already I’m so lonesome I could cry

[Chorus]
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go
I’m leavin’ on a jet plane
I don’t know when I’ll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go

[Verse 2]
There’s so many times I’ve let you down
So many times I’ve played around
I tell you now, they don’t mean a thing
Every place I go I think of you
Every song I sing I sing for you
When I come back I’ll wear your wedding ring (I’ll wear your ring)

Verse 3]
Now the time has come to leave you
One more time let me kiss you
Then close your eyes, I’ll be on my way
Dream about the days to come
When I won’t have to leave alone
About the time I won’t have to say (I won’t have to say)

[Chorus]
Kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go
I’m leavin’ on a jet plane
I don’t know when I’ll be back again
Leavin’ on a jet plane
I don’t know when I’ll be back again
Leavin’ on a jet plane
I don’t know when I’ll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go

fiction · Writing

The Duke, the Princess, and the Biscuits

August 31, 2026 Sally9 Comments

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.

fiction · nonsense · Writing

None of this is true

August 24, 2026 Sally9 Comments

“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.

Music

Night on Bald Mountain

August 15, 2026 Sally2 Comments

Today’s SoC prompt is Bald, Balled, Bawled. I fell asleep last night trying to think about the last time I bawled so I could write about it. When was it? I couldn’t remember.

When I sat down to write this morning, bawled was out the window and bald was in. This is what came out —

A few weeks I was in Maine. On one of the days, we hiked and reached an overlook that had one of those pictures that identified the mountains we were seeing. One of them was called Bald Mountain — and immediately I was transported to my childhood.

We had a vinyl record that I listened to often. On one side was The Sorcerer’s Apprentice – Fantasia, and, because of that, Mickey Mouse was on the album sleeve. On the other side was Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain.

I started singing Night on Bald Mountain to my friend — DAH DAH Da-Da-Da-DAH DA-DA da-da-da-DAH DAH! He looked at my like I had two heads. How does one sing a piece of classical music?

Truth be told, the Mickey Mouse side — The Sorcerer’s Apprentice was too scary for me, so I preferred the foreboding music of Bald Mountain.

And the day we were on the hike, the weather kept thinking about raining, although not a thunderstorm. Still the vista was cloudy and gave me the sense of potential storm, as on Bald Mountain.

This may or may not be the vista that identified Bald Mountain, but it was from that same day.

If you’re not familiar with the music, take a few minutes and listen to the Mussorgsky piece. Picture a little girl putting it on the record player in her room and falling asleep to it. That may explain a lot about me.

Music

Song Lyric Sunday: Richard Shindell

August 2, 2026 Sally6 Comments

Born August 3, 1960

I cheered when I saw that he was born in August — because that’s the challenge for this week’s Song Lyric Sunday. This week the theme is to find a song that was written or performed by someone who was born in the month of August. It proved not to be an easy task.

Richard Shindell is an American folk singer. He wrote a response song to The Beatles’ song She’s Leaving Home. I’ll put both songs below. If you’re not familiar with The Beatles’ song, skip down and listen to that first. Without it, Shindell’s song, Bye Bye, may not make sense. Somewhere I remember reading that Shindell had written his song as a song-writing exercise, trying to imagine what life would have been like for the parents of the girl who left home and just left a note behind.

Ten years to the day her father’s in the garden
He’s kept it as it was the day she went away
On every life some rain must fall
It doesn’t mean we let the roses go

Ten years to the day her mother’s in the kitchen
She’s standing at the backdoor, “Come, love, have some tea.”
It took a bit of getting used to
Only setting out two places

I could bring her back to them
With a few strokes of this fountain pen
All’s forgiven, start again

I could put her in a taxi idling at the corner
Working up her nerve and wondering what she’ll say
Remembering how she left that morning
Recalling how they both were snoring

I could bring her back to them
With a few strokes of this fountain pen
All’s forgiven, start again

That man from the motor trade
Ran off with a meter maid

Roses, wild, have spilled into the alley
Backdoor off its hinges, the grass grown high
Ten years to the day and counting
That little note she wrote? That’s all she wrote

I could bring her back to them
With a few strokes of this fountain pen
All’s forgiven, start again

But I can’t bring her back to them
That’s not how this story ends
As is written so it ends
Bye-bye

Wednesday morning at five o’clock
As the day begins
Silently closing her bedroom door
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more

She goes down the stairs to the kitchen
Clutching her handkerchief
Quietly turning the backdoor key
Stepping outside, she is free

She, … (we gave her most of our lives)
Is leaving (sacrified most of our lives)
Home (we gave her everything money could buy)

Father snores as his wife gets into her dressing gown
Picks up the letter that’s lying there
Standing alone at the top of the stairs
She breaks down and cries to her husband
Daddy, our baby’s gone.
Why would she treat us so thoughtlessly?
How could she do this to me?

She (we never thought of ourselves)
Is leaving (never a thought for ourselves)
Home (we struggled hard all our lives to get by)
She’s leaving home, after living alone, for so many years

Friday morning, at nine o’clock
She is far away
Waiting to keep the appointment she made
Greeting a man from the Motortrade

She (what did we do that was wrong)
Is Having (we didn’t know it was wrong)
Fun (fun is the one thing that money can’t buy)

Something inside, that was always denied,
for so many years, .
She’s leaving home

Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Paul Mccartney / John Lennon
She’s Leaving Home lyrics © Sony/atv Tunes Llc, Mpl Communications Inc

Life · Writing

A Trip to Maine

July 31, 2026 Sally2 Comments

This is my response to this week’s Writer’s Workshop prompts

12 things I learned and/or grew to appreciate this ~~month~~ week (because I’ve been in Maine for the week):

I now know the difference between a tadpole, polywog, and froglet. This is a polywog:

A tadpole doesn’t have any legs and a froglet has all four. This polywog, as you can see(maybe), only has two legs.

2. Maine blueberries grow low to the ground and are tiny, compared to our New York blueberry bushes. They are harvested with special rakes. They have blueberry bushes in Maine, too, but those teeny berries from the ground plants are PACKED with flavor. Who knew?

3. There is more than one Fort Knox. My dad was stationed in Fort Knox, KY, and it’s known for all the gold there. But before that Fort Knox, there was a Fort Knox in Maine built in the mid-1800s. It’s a massive granite fortress built on the edge of the Penobscot River.

4. Perspective is always important. When you’re looking from the outside, you can’t see in very well (see top Ft. Knox photo). But when you’re looking from the inside out, the world just seems to open up.

5. The Penobscot Narrows Bridge is one of only five bridge observatories in the world. The other four are in China, Thailand, Slovakia, and South Korea.

Looking up at the Penobscot Observatory from our car.

6. Perspective is always important. (Yes, I already said that.) Looking down and looking up are totally different views.

Looking down from the Penobscot Observatory at our car.

7. Beaches hold amazing surprises.

We found this crab shell on the beach full of… we didn’t know! It turns out they are Marine Springtails, a relative of the snow fleas I’ve seen at times in New York. They’re an important part of the beach ecosystem, part of nature’s clean-up crew.

8. Museums are fun.

We stopped at the Penobscot Maritime Museum, mostly because of this guy beckoning us in. I learned more about sardines than I thought possible.

9. Sometimes kids don’t appreciate museums.

“Boring who needs fishermen dont prezerve fishing”

This was in a box of comments that I looked through. It made me laugh — and feel a little sad for the kid who wrote it.

10. Museums can be very funny for kids (big and small) who engage with them.

This photograph was hanging in the ladies room at the Penobscot Maritime Museum. It was taken by a turn of the 20th century photographer, Charles Coombs, who was also an undertaker and taxidermist. The picture made me laugh.

11. Floating classrooms can be massive.

The big ship in the back is called The State of Maine and recently came into Castine, home to the Maine Maritime Academy. Its primary purpose is for training Maine Maritime cadets while also being available for federal humanitarian assistance and disaster relief mission. We went to see it but couldn’t get any closer than this.

12. Sunsets are beautiful everywhere.