Watch Your Mouth: A Found Poem

Spoiler alert:
I'm no guru on
trending superfood,
but boneless wings
don't fly, so

double down
the fiscal cliff
into your man cave,

job creators like you
lack passion.

Boot that (not) amazing
bucket list up Capitol Hill;
viral infections only
kick cans down the road.


*

Prompt inspiration: (Lake Superior State) banned word list

Shared with Imaginary Gardens Open Link Monday

Traffic Jams

I thought it all nonsense,
this ethereal scene
unfolding before my eyes:
a holiday bottleneck
wrapped in stiff burlap,
those behind the wheel
acting like turgid miscreants
with dementia, demarcation
a necessary counterattack.

Must we go back
to kindergarten,
review boundaries?
Or direct traffic to
the nearest park,
offer free meditation guides
with effervescent appeal,
discuss change of perspective
from hustle/bustle to Zen?

*

Prompt inspiration: Imaginary Gardens~ A Word with Laurie

Holiday Survival Hint

Tiptoe around that certain person
who, if you come too close, might
detonate cutting words, evil glares
daring to stretch one's limber attitude
into a back-breaking, tedious attempt
for tolerance. Take cover before
shrapnel penetrates your heart.


*


Prompt inspiration: 3WW- detonate, limber, tedious

Top 10 Reasons I Haven't Posted Lately...

I've been crabby.

I swallowed a bug.

I was sucked into a hole in the ground, head first... after swallowing the bug.

I've been acting like a bug... rope climbing so much that I couldn't hold a pencil.

A broken pier caught me unaware one day when I was crawling like a bug.

I've been eating too many Christmas cookies (poor elephant).

I discovered chasing butterflies is a great form of exercise... especially since I'm no longer a bug and am a bit freer now because...

Pete finally graduated, so...

I've been celebrating (at other people's houses).

And the number one reason I've gotten behind on blogging- tis the season for making precious memories.

Why Not Red Delicious, Granny Smith or Honeycrisp?

Kids are sent to school with apples,
ones that crunch numbers and bytes 
where red is read and juice is charge,
a daily dose of  energy every hour.

They take their apples out to recess
feed their egoism with plans to share
as others huddle around hoping for
bits of Internet, uncensored.

And hungry games are played
with guns and blood and gore,
so much they get desensitized
to violence. Reality a funhouse

mirror, warps young minds that morph
before their time, the video games
a fantastical  escape into the dark
a hide and seek, perception skewed.

*

I strongly believe that violent video games of hunting people and whatever else they do (we don't let our kids play them) contribute to the problems of today. Not long ago, I was in a game shop and the shelves were full of games for mature audiences. It used to be that these kinds of games were placed up high, but I noticed they were all over the shelves at eye level. I asked the teenager behind the desk why and he said because that has become the norm, that as a society we are desensitized to violence. I left without finding anything suitable for my boys.

What happens when someone is mentally unstable? Does that person lose touch with reality in such a way that the game becomes their world and he/she begins to play it in real life? What do you think?


Linked to Imaginary Gardens Open Link Monday

Pipe Dreams

Abnormal
legs
        dan-
                gle
off cigarette butts
angle sideways
d
o
w
n
lavish tracks:
pipe dreams.


 *

Linked to Imaginary Gardens Open Link Monday 1/7/13

Prompt inspiration: 3WW- abnormal, dangle, lavish

My Christmas List

Dear Santa,

Clothes might be nice,
Pots and pans to drum,
A remodeled kitchen,
For my iPod, tunes to hum.

But, really...

Enough space for all the poems
I'd like to write next year,
Health, abundance for us all,
A daily attitude of cheer.

Merry Christmas!

*

Prompt inspiration: Imaginary Gardens- Words Count with Mama Zen- Christmas list

In the Company of Dogs

Is this a battle
of the sexes, or maybe
perhaps breeds?

A one-dog-up-man-ship
vying for all of me?

In my lap,
a fluid harvest
awaits, treats
cultivated
especially
for each one

or so you'd think
by the way
they act

as jealous as
a teenage crush.


*
Prompt inspirations-
3WW: battle, fluid, harvest
Poetic Asides- "In the company of ____"

Encore, Please



Object to be Destroyed by Man Ray

Mesmerizing flames
within the hearth
crackled as I
tried to warm my back,
then ease into the chair
for full effect.

You watched me
from the wooden bench,
fingers resting
on the ivories,
palms on edge
of desire as you
seduced me
with your eyes

caressed my breasts;
the piano came
to life with a
metronomic
symphony.


*


Prompt inspirations:
The Mag 146

* Small * Kindness * Blogsplash *

Thoughtful ornament made for me, sent unexpectedly last year
by Ella Wilson (see link on her name in poem)

Small kindness~

an unforeseen deed

filled with thoughtfulness

unexpectedly received

 

expressed, in times of need;

whether we know it or not,

planting a reciprocal seed

in a person's sweet spot.

 

Take for instance

the cardinal above,

made for me, the essence

of Ella's talent and pure love.

 

Another time, a dear friend,

Linda (who lives in Germany),

sent me fine chocolates (a sin)

to share with family.

 

A simple inquiry

of how I really feel,

a smile or a hug for me~

all reminders kindness heals.

 

*

 

This poem is written for Fiona Robyn's blogsplash which accompanies the release of her novel, Small Kindnesses (available free today,11/27/12).

Slick

Inspiration- The Mag145
Photo source here

 

a red throne, ego
your demise
to sit alone
in other's eyes

while I
swept the floors
beneath your feet
watched life crumble
in defeat

Regifted

*

 

Burlap wrapped,

burlapped-

your regifted gift

slapped me

to my senses,

and course defenses

like downed fences

drifted away.

 

*

Prompt inspiration- Imaginary Gardens' A Word with Laurie: Burlap

***To read more about using texture in poetry, click Here.***

Happy Thanksgiving

Caramel

Anticipation,
a burst
of pure caramel,
sweet goodness
down
my throat
pure ecstasy,
my love affair
with you.




*

Inspiration- Imaginary Gardens- Out of Standard- Isadora Gruye wants us to write about guilty pleasures

A Message from Fiona Robyn

Join our Small Kindnesses Blogsplash & write about kindness...

On Tuesday the 27th of November, I'm joining the Small Kindnesses Blogsplash and writing about a special small kindness someone paid me in the past. Would you like to join me?

The Blogsplash is organized by Fiona Robyn to celebrate the release of her novel 'Small Kindnesses' which will be free on Kindle on the day. All you have to do is write something about being kind - a memory of someone who was kind to you, a list of kindnesses over the past week, or something kind you did for someone else. It'll be a celebration of kindness in all its forms, especially those little kind acts that make all the difference (like this one Fiona wrote about).

To find out more visit Fiona's blog here, or join the Facebook event here. Do ask your friends to join you, and feel free to copy this blog onto your own to help us spread the word.

See you on the 27th!

Prepared

Squall, 1986, by Andrew Wyeth
Photo prompt courtesy of The Mag 144

Your practicality breeds pandemonium-

on one side, a plethora of contradictions clash

the other, a crystalline constancy makes not a splash

and I remain in the middle, prepared for either one.

Last Night

When the light turned red, a man and a lady impeccably dressed stepped out in front of the cars, started pointing to a house on the corner. The man was wearing a suit and shiny black shoes. He was waving a fedora hat with one hand and a walking stick with the other. The woman had on a bright red dress with ruffles around the bottom that she held in her hands and swayed side to side while kicking like a can-can dancer in spiky heels. 

The decrepit house had a ‘for sale’ sign in the front yard I could hardly see through the overgrown bushes, scraggly trees. I rolled down my window because a look of desperation on the couple’s faces touched my heart, but the light turned green before we could talk. I then pulled into the out-of-business gas station across the street.

We never spoke, yet we communicated. They couldn’t sell their house and I wondered how someone dressed so nice could live in such a dump. I decided to take a look, not because I was interested in buying a house, but because curiosity got the best of me.

The house sat on cinder blocks. White paint was chipped off the outside causing it to resemble a splotchy albino. Rotten wood had created depressions on the side. Weeds ran rampant throughout the yard.

Inside, the house looked like something from the 1960s with Pepto-Bismol colored tile on the bathroom walls and avocado green appliances in the kitchen. There was no furniture in the dank, musty one-bedroom house.

Somehow I got the word out about this couple’s onus and the community came together to repair the home. When they were finished, it looked like a cute cottage from a fairy tale where everyone lives happily ever after.

Only, this story doesn’t have a happy ending. Many things occurred during the house’s final touches. My middle son befriended a trouble-making boy and went over to his house. I later found out the thirteen-year-old had driven him in a truck without a steering wheel. Apparently they remained in the boy’s house without adult supervision and when I went to pick up my son, I discovered the boy had shared some very inappropriate things with him from the Internet. We were both disturbed by it, although I have no idea what it was.

But I didn’t pick my son up until after what I’m about to tell you had happened. I had a vision that the house was in flames, but shunned it off to this dream I was having. We had made the final walk-through, but a child who appeared from nowhere forgot her purse. She went inside to retrieve it and couldn’t find it. After a thorough search through closets, she found it in the kitchen by the stove. Suddenly I appeared as a fume arose from the gas burner. I grabbed the girl and jumped out of the house just as it exploded.

Then I woke up. Can you believe it? If you had to write an ending to this story, what would it be? Please share in comments!

*

A Morning Twist of Fate

S - - - - T - - - - R - - - - E - - - - T - - - - C - - - - H
when you wake up, fetch
a cup of coffee (for me,
add a touch of cream,
for you a splash
of water).

We might be late.
Cause: A chill to mark our fate,
a   let's - not - get - out - of - bed
quicker than the flicker of dawn
decision to satisify the need
for exercise. Go ahead,
implicate us... but
don't tell anybody.


*

Prompt inspiration:
Imaginary Gardens- Breaking the 4th wall
 3WW- cause, implicate, stretch

Dispersed No More

Verdun, 1917 by Felix Vallotton
Coutesy of The Mag 143

Black and white spotlights,

ocher, midnight blue

over fields of golden wheat-

-geometric fate, the weight

of clouded views

converge.


 

Mesh Mess

Everyone knows what mesh is, right? Part of a net, fabric, metal links for jewelry, weblike pattern; or to entangle, work together, etc. Well, let me tell you something that just doesn't mesh; the commercial I just saw on Cartoon Network.

Let me backtrack a bit. My middle son is home sick today with a headache, stomachache, overall blah feeling. Friday a substitute had a stroke in one of his classes. Literally, he had a stroke! I hope that's not what has my boy not wanting to go to school, but I digress. Let's get back to mesh.

I was sitting at my computer ruminating over what to work on. When someone is home during the day, it's really hard for me to get a lot of writing done. Anyway, Tom & Jerry was on the TV, my son resting in a recliner by my side with a cold washcloth on his forehead, when all of the sudden he starts making gurgling noises.

"EWW. I can't believe this."

Of course, I turn to the TV which is showing a class-action lawsuit ad for... get this... vaginal mesh! It was showing detailed diaphragm diagrams of the subject matter with an explicit narrative; all the possibilities, infections, etc.

"Oh, my God. What are you watching? Turn this off!" I said without thinking.

"It's Tom & Jerry, Mom. I know it's the middle of the day, but Tom & Jerry? Shouldn't they be showing ads for tonka trucks or Cheerios?"

"I just can't believe this." I was googling vaginal mesh at the same time I spoke. I'd never heard of such a thing. Was it some kind of STD or a new name for a mysterious discharge? Thank God I'm married.

Meanwhile, the channel had been changed to Phineas & Ferb where Doofenshmirtz was walking around with a net on his head. Now that's how mesh should be used on kid's shows. My son's forgotten about the whole thing. It will be a while before I can. But at least I know what not to do if I have future problems in that area.

Peace, Captured

*

Fleeting

like deer across an open field 

moments of peace.

Forever captured

through observant eyes,

that moment of peace.

*

BlogBlast4Peace, Nov.4, 2012

 

One More...

Minute's sleep
Cup of coffee
Sugar high
Email
Wave goodbye
Yawn
Sugar high
Sign-up sheet
Volunteer
Book fair rush
Christmas gift
Sugar high
Point to earn
Judge to turn
Yawn
Sugar high
Tear from child
Heart to mend
Stitch to sew
Sugar high
Report to print
Printer flaw
Call for help
Wave goodbye
Sigh
Sugar Rush
Yawn
Crash

*
Condensed version:

Halloween aftermath-
Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate
Mounds of chocolate pounds

*

Note- Of all the days to have a Mindful Writing Day where you focus on one small detail, this was not the one. I had to work a school book fair, judge a literature contest, tutor, do some serious Mommy-ing, make a sock baby, the list goes on... but one thing was constant- candy!

Happy Halloween

Mindful Writing Day, 11-1-12

This Thursday the 1st of November is the first ever Mindful Writing Day, organised by Kaspa & Fiona at Writing Our Way Home. To join in simply slow down, pay attention to one thing and write it down (making a small stone). Read all about it here. small stones are easy to write, and they will help you connect to the world. Once you've started, you might not want to stop... You can read more about small stones and find out about Lorrie with pea-green eyes in Fiona's free ebook, Write Your Way Home.

Played

Photo by L. Kolp

Think. The way we once thread ourselves
to a wish for something more
a silent door
peace within, single men
women, rich or poor
power played, gagged and bound;
damaged, then unwound.


*

Prompt inspirations~
Imaginary Gardens (Sunday mini-challenge): 7-line stanza created by Paul Laurence Dunbar
The Sunday Whirl 80: women, men, power, wish, damaged, way, think, single, thread, bound, within, we

When's Recess?

It's nearly slanderous
the things I read
on Facebook
hear and see on TV;
one side vs. the other,
who's better?
Did you know
when such and such
was in kindergarten
he blah, blah, blah?
Insignificant,
this childish rant
that has two opposing sides
on a seesaw;
up, score one
down, score two
don't you dare
stay in the middle.
I won't be your friend
if you blah, blah, blah.
Fighting over Fruit Loops
or whose dessert is better?
A playground clique
that clacks my nerves,
nearly drives me insane.
Didn't you pay attention
in kindergarten, people?








Prompt inspiration: Imaginary Garden's Mary's Mixed bag: Pet Peeves

Focus

 

~~

Capture the white light inside you.

Focus on its brilliance.

Snap the moment in time.

Store it in a peaceful memory.

~~~

Prompt inspiration: Imaginary Gardens A Word with Laurie

*

 

Yellow or Red, It's All the Same

I have a confession to make. I've been spending time with yellow butterflies. Don't get me wrong. I love my red cardinals. They are my #1 sign from above. Yet many people draw upon varying symbols as forms of comfort from their loved ones after death, and they are not always cardinals. These symbols might be blue jays, eagles, doves, ladybugs or butterflies. What do they all have in common? They are beautiful creatures. They are visible affirmations that loved ones are OK. They offer hope to grieving souls.

The reason I've been spending time with butterflies is because I'm editing a wonderful, spiritual book in which they are symbolic. The project I first told you about here has finally come to fruition. Cathy Taylor's Believe It's Possible is a line of merchandise celebrating the Lord. The book is the heartwarming story of Cathy's journey starting back in high school up until now. It speaks of faith, friendship and forgiveness as well as the many struggles she endured along the way. She has products available in the form of jewelry, t-shirts, artwork, and with lots more in the making. On the Believe It's Possible website, you can learn more as well as watch videos of her dear friend Myra's testimony before she passed away and God's glorious night.

This project is extra special to me because Cathy and I have so many similarities and have endured many of the same challenges. She has given me the courage to speak out about some of mine, too. I know it's no accident we were placed together for this; whenever I am on the phone with her about various things pertaining to the book, I spot a yellow butterfly.

***

Along with this huge project, I've been busy with the kids. Pete's last semester is upon us and come December he will have obtained his MBA. Wasn't it just yesterday I told you about it? He has also been extremely busy at work, so I've been flying solo much of the time.

***

I also have several announcements on recent awards and publications.

First and foremost is my inclusion in Writer's Digest for the second time. In the November/December issue, my nonet When Testosterone Starts Kicking In was published in Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides column.

Second, I won runner's up in a non-contest contest The Missouri Review puts on and had my Barbie sonnet, No One's Perfect, published on their blog!

I have a story about how Pete and I first met published in a book of love stories, Falling in Love with You.

My creative art piece won recognition for New World Creative Union's (NWCU) Wednesday Wake-Up Call mystery challenge. This is an extra special honor because drawing and painting have never really been my thing, but because of the challenge I branched out. I'm very proud of this piece.

Along the same lines, I was invited to be the NWCU's first guest on the premiere of their radio show, The Creative Nexus. I really enjoyed the discussion with Roger and Natasha. In fact, I felt so comfortable that I even opened up about some things in my life.

I also have several poems that have been published. Click here to find a list and where to read them.

***

Oh, and when I'm not doing all this? I'm sitting out in the sun trying to get some of my blonde back (just kidding). Read this and you'll know what I'm talking about.

Why Wait?

There you are
with that look
of rapture
in your eye.

I know
the calm comes
before you
throw me on the bed
and rattle my appetite.

Why wait?

*

Prompt inspirations:
 3WW- calm, know, rattle
Poetic Asides- Question poem

Become...

Midnight Snack, 1984, by Curtis Wilson Cost

 

Become the thunder you want to hear

The light when all around is dark,
A throttlehold of fear

Dig deeper than your childhood dreams

When you vowed to reach your goals
Before excuses joined as one
Umbrella meshed with coal

Let the shifts shape you

Away from inherited beliefs
Stand still as wings lift you,
A destination unique

Become the thunder you want to hear

The light when all around is dark,
An upward channel, clear

 

*
Picture prompt courtesy of The Mag 139
Prompt inpisration: The Sunday Whirl 78- umbrella, deeper, inherit, excuses, stand, become, thunder, childhood, joined, vowed, shifts, light

 

Apparition ART

This is the picture prompt provided by Moondustwriter:

This is what I painted:

I played around with it on Ribbet until voila! my final product:

What do you think?

NWCU Wednesday Wake-Up Call

Exciting News

Tonight I will be a guest on the premiere of New World Creative Union's new radio show, The Creative Nexus. Please join us, but on one condition... no jokes about my Texas twang, y'all. Call (619) 924-0981 if you would like to join in the conversation. (5:00- 6:30 p.m. CDT)

Click here for more info.

On the Outside

You thought a brisk walk might help
leave the miserable feelings behind. . .

. . .around and around you skimmed

detached circles, a Venn diagram.

 

From the middle I watched you, a

maze of mass confusion

 

.

.

.

as
each

step 

spiralled

down 

to

your

grave.

*

Prompt inspiration- 3WW- brisk, detached, miserable

Clandestine Excuses

Sick Woman, 1665, by Jan Steen
Photo prompt courtesy of The Mag 138

the same old story every week
headaches, chills, lethargy

he thought she might be terminal
so he gathered docs and clergy

unaware a secret kept
stuffed within her pillow

made her ill, recondite truth;
she'd rather be with Willow

*

Also sahred with Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads Open Link Monday

Dancing with a Bird

A peck at the keyboard,
one letter at a time
all day she sat brainstorming
for words and perfect rhyme.

A special project in her lap
needed lyrical finesse
enough to make you tap it out
with poetical prowess.

At five, she decided to
take a break and surf.
She headed to the union's
creative Wednesday turf.

A prompt she saw of dancing,
she gladly joined right in;
got caught up in the music
recalled a stage full of sin--

Billy Idol, (her teenage idol),
was dancing with himself;
his voice, a vision, took her back
to hidden bottles on a shelf

sneaking into concerts
with a bag of dear Jim Beam
banging to the blasted beat,
a wild side she'd never seen.

And while she sat reflecting
at her desk, with Idol on
a sweet bird started chirping
to the rhythm of the song.

Right outside her window
she could have pet him like a dog,
he sung along with Idol
smashed romancing with his fog.

And then she knew exactly what
her poem would be about;
the day she danced beside a bird,
while Billy Idol sang and shout.



Prompt inspiration~ NWCU- Wednesday Wake-Up Call

Passing Through

It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman
Photo prompt courtesy of The Mag 137

a spurt of growth

a nudge, a grudge

in the wee hours of the night

a need for food, his only plight

so I get up with him

(a banana might

settle the unrest)--

 he throws up,

no more grudge just guilt

hours of upset, down

for the count

until it makes its way through

exhausted, but he's ready

for lunch

already

 

 

(Some Things Will Never Be) Passé Composé

Photo by Susie Clevenger

Orange tape reflects

a line-up on County Lane;

yesterday's letters, hard to choose.

 

One stands with flap open

unwilling to wander away

from tangible SENTiments

 

like a parent waving arms,

"Come back to me,"

as the child walks down the road.

~~

Prompt inspiration- Imaginary Gardens mini-Sunday challenge (tercet)

Mystery Challenge

 

~~~

 

This piece won this award from NWCU!

 

 

A Whispered Chill

"Poetry" by Alphonse Mucha

A chance in life as children, I see
years of choice in front of thee;
let not dark knights entice thy will,
savor the voice, a whispered chill.

~~

Prompt inspirations:
3WW- chance, entice, savor
Poetry Jam- Arts Gonna Art

Wrecked

Flying Down, 2006, by David Salle
Picture prompt: The Mag 136

 

A tumble, stumble

dip

down swirls of

orange(E) tangy

dreams

I spiral through,

a
nose-
dive
to hell;  

while you

glide away

in the plane

we once built. 

Discovered on a Walk One Day...

horses

fenced in, hidden

within the city~

a backyard

treasure island

Prompt inspiration~ Imaginary Gardens: Mary's Mixed Bag- Fences

Bottlenecked Hope

Southern-Style Bottle Trees
photo by L. Kolp

 

Blue

bottled

blooms

brush the

heavenly

skies, clank

rhythms  as  a

bottomed - out

drunk  on   the

dusty   streets

of hell exhales

exhaust - like

sighs.  Y o u

think his only

escape from

bottlenecked

hope  is  to

shatter glass

into the air.

Prompt inspiration- Imaginary Garden's A Word with Laurie: Bottleneck

If You Lose a Good Thing

If you lose a good thing,
don't expect me to sit on your pity pot
and watch you flush yourself like a dead goldfish.
If you lose a good thing,
don't blow bubbles in your Budweiser
or shove hot air down the throat of a stranger;
you might two-step your way straight to jail.
If you lose a good thing,
don't forget to take the tissues
out of your Wranglers before you do your laundry;
leave them out to dry on an old beat-up clothesline
like you did me.

*

Prompt inspiration: Imaginary Gardens music prompt w/ Marian- "it's better to have it" (Miss Barbara Lynn)

No more covering up behind blonde hair

Me, au natural- 9-7-12

Yesterday, I said goodbye to my last bit of blonde. I can't believe I did it, but I have finally gone back to my roots. It's taken me two years to get here and it hasn't always been easy with the two-tone hair color (which, thank goodness, is in style now) and the ponytail/baseball cap look (which is also in), but at last I've reached my goal. How does someone who has been blonde all of her life face the fact that she just isn't anymore? And on top of that, how does someone come to grips with those unwanted strays starting to pop up? I know I've earned them, but really? Those gray hairs are like spirals in an overused notebook- sticking up and out of control, forever reminding you they are there. Now if I have a piece of hair tickling my face or stuck in my eyelashes, I have to check if it's gray or not, because if it isn't I can't afford to pull it out. Anyway, I digress.

On June 21, 2010, I first told you about how damaged my hair was after I had started highlighting it myself (what a laugh... I was bleaching it with the "more-is-better" mentality I've battled my entire life). I didn't know what color to use at first, so my hair turned out a little like melted Neapolitan ice cream. When the next time rolled around, which was probably sooner than it should have been, I chose a lighter blonde color. With each botched-up box job, I became more daring until my hair turned almost white. I'm not sure if you remember, but I woke up one morning with a chunk of my hair missing. Had the hair fairy come in the night? I couldn't understand it. I knew I'd hit bottom. Something had to change.

Me, 2010- Covering up behind blonde hair

So I made a vow to stop coloring my hair. After all, I was sick of the upkeep. In fact, I was sick and tired of everything superficial in my life. I decided to make a fresh start, to learn to love myself for who I was on the inside, not for some image the mirror reflected in front of me.

It's taken a lot of work and I'm by no means finished, but better off than I used to be. Now all I have to do is avoid looking in the mirror and I'm just fine, thank you very much.

Regrettable, Gossip Overheard

Have you heard the banter of he said, she said, they said, what-
gossip in the vestibule; duty taken, final cut

as a wrestle match between butt out! and OMG, say what? 
I battle from within; and though I try to fight it, the second wins.

"No, this can't be true- John Boy really is a girl?"
The women in their element gasp aloud, their noses curl

as I hide behind the paper, headline news- another day;
"I guess that makes him unisex," I hear the women say

wishing I'd listened to my first internal hunch
to mind my own business, let the ignorant eat their lunch.


Prompt inspirations:
Imaginary Gardens- Kerry's Wednesday Challenge- Internal Monologue
3WW- banter, duty, element

Labor Day doesn't necessarily mean the end of summer

Summer is officially over, but not for me. I've been participating in a project called 100 Days of Summer and am only on Day 62. In this challenge, people from all over the globe are posting artwork of some kind, poems and prose, and sharing them with one another on a Facebook page created for this event. Apparently the group did the same thing last year, but this is my first time... and guess what? I love it.

I decided to use pictures, so I started a new blog, 100 Lazy Days, especially for this purpose. I've had so much fun going through all the photos that I wasn't doing anything with and sharing them with someone other than family. I've always been a picture taker, and although I'd never call myself a "photographer" per se, I do believe I have a good eye. I think poetry and photography are connected. You can read why here.

One of the group members, Dorothee Lang, asked us to take a moment and reflect upon what we've accomplished during the first fifty days (I know, I'm a little late but I've had three birthdays in August and back-to-school to prepare for). Here are her questions with my answers:

1) From your own works so far, which day is your personal favorite? That's hard, but I'd have to go with Day 33 because how many times would I catch a seagull eating bread out of Pete's hands at just the right moment? Which one is your favorite?

2) What approach/concept for the 100 days did you have at the start? Did it change, and if so, how? At first I had no idea what I'd do. I posted some with little ditties or explanations, but then decided to only share photos.

3) How do you feel about the 100 days of summer so far? I've really enjoyed honing in on this other artistic side of me. I regret not having the ample time to read through everyone's contributions on a daily basis, but I think we're all in the same boat and understand.

If you choose to visit 100 Lazy Days, please note the options at the top. These allow you to view my pictures different ways. My favorites are "snapshot" and "mosaic" because all the photos are laid out like a collage. You can also click the picture to see a bigger version of it.

Happy Labor Day

Long deserved rest for the working individual
Always willing to lend a hand despite data
Believed to be true; an unemployment stab
Omitting the fact most of us do our share, so
Remember to honor this day, remember

Dads, moms, sisters, brothers, friends; likened
Allies join together to unwind, relax on the sofa
You, yes you deserve a break from labor today

*This is a double acrostic poem. I wrote one for Memorial Day and posted it (here) on my other blog, Bird's-Eye Gemini.

Linking to Imaginary Gardens Open Link Monday

Dessert

Summer Night, 1913, by Albert Bloch
Picture prompt from The Mag 133 

A blue moon,
hands in pants
absurdity, obscure
(per)chance when
ghostly demons come
to play swirly, curly
pleasure points, a milky
dream-like cherry stance.

A HURRication Paradise

Photo by L. Kolp
100 Lazy Days

My safe haven,

heaven in a backyard scene;

a white wrought-iron seat

between a green vine heart
connecting me to you.

As above the bluest blue,

bluer than Paul Newman's eyes,

a waterfall trickles

lucid thoughts a splash, a drop

of doubt

of fear

of what I left behind;

Ike's wrath the path to here,

a HURRication
one might have thought
they'd only find in movies.

This is a picture of where I stayed after Hurricane Ike. The whole family rode out the storm (BAD decision). The next day, a friend and I took the kids to her brother's house. This picture of his backyard is merely a snippet of this paradise where we stayed. After Hurricane Rita, we had stayed with family members in another beautiful part of Dallas. There have been so many evacuations in my children's memories that they have come to think of them as hurricane vacations, or HURRications. I pray we don't take one this year.

~~

Prompt inspiration: Imaginary Gardens- Sunday Photo Prompt

Sushi

A TV in the examining
room sends a message-
LONG WAIT, a normal
expectation for a doctor's
office, yet you hope
to escape such a fate.

Three cooking channel shows
later, an affair with impatience
embattles your mind and you
dream of being free from this
torturous bind so you open
the door, peek into the hall-

WHERE IS EVERONE?
you thought you thought, but
you screamed those words,
slammed the door for
emphasis
as the ad-
Nadia G's Bitchin' Kitchen
flashes in front of your eyes
and you dream of sushi.

**



Prompt inspirations~
3WW- affair, expectation, free
Poetic Asides- Appointment poem
Real Toads- Words Count with Mama Zen- Power Images

Back to School

Photo by L. Kolp- My Precious Children

I dreamed of quiet days
days of contentment with
no TV or Wii blaring in my ears,
no fighting or I’m bored complaints,
no drifting hours scorned because we never do a thing,
no squished raisins in the couch cushions,
no uphill climb towards something better than this,
no wishing for a backyard pool,
no washing clothes changed too often,
no captive audience, a cluster ‘round my desk,
no arms on my waist ready for a hug,
no sweetness to cuddle with on the couch,
no midday treats at Sonic (2 to 4, of course),
no guarantee of safety or protection from bullies,
no laughter to rouse the midday slumps,
no jokes, no squeals, no crumbs, no spills-
ARGH! This silence is killing me.

Prompt inspiration:

Shawna at Flipside Records gives us prompt words on Mondays. Here are the ones I chose: cluster, raisins, washing, sweetness, overwhelm, waist, climb, rouse, contentment, scorned

Also linked to Real Toads Open Link Monday

When Poets Joined to Play

At dusk we met online,
our link a chain of poems each week;
the idea to empty essentials one after another
like a word association game.
From all around the globe we sat,
hands on keyboards, pencils near-
a moment in time, a union in cyberspace;
our dear operator a yellow rose with a patient heart.
The time approached,
we sat prepared to shoot off words in unison.
A sudden rain with sporadic drops from everywhere
splat, FORGIVEN
each thread a trace of chaos,
a recipe for ADD/ADHD,
a race to keep up,
a bond with poets on the fence of laughter
as spontaneous as the raindrops, the words,
the camaraderie on a Friday night when poets joined to play.

*

Prompt inspiration: The Sunday Whirl #71- dusk, link, trace, empty, essentials, rose, pencils, fence, chain, recipe, forgiven, operator