Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe - Tuesday Writing Prompt
(Devereaux and Beth)

"Write a piece of prose or poetry that uses the words:  child, predators, and politics"

Caught!  a child predator,
now locked up, seen no more.
But Leaders can always grant pardons,
a law that is quite disheartening.
Some steeped in egotistical politics
have no moral compass, no ethics.  
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“sky holds blue”

Written for:  The Twiglets #196 - "sky holds blue:

All traces
of white clouds
have vanished.
Today the sky holds blue.

Blue sky
dapples ocean
with dazzling lights

small sad little boy
April rains will ruin plans
then sky turns bright blue

                 A young man who lived in Shanghai
                 was determined to touch the sky.
                   His machine, he declared
                 would propel him up there.
     When launched, he was lost in the blink of an eye.
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Moon Music

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday - 
09.28.20 to the Moon!  (posted by Frank Tassone)

"Let’s celebrate the Moon!

Additionally, the Moon is a traditional Autumn kigo, those seasonal words so important to haiku. There are kigo for the Harvest Moon, as well as for the nights preceding and following it.
Why? Well, October waits in the wings with two full moons! The Harvest moon, usually arriving in September, appears on October 1st—this Thursday. And on Halloween, the Blue moon is none other than the Hunter’s moon."
Photo by Alex Andrews on
When I was younger, the craze was 45 rpm records, little spinning disks of vinyl, which my friends and I would play until worn out.
With A and B sides, the A side was the song heard most on the radio.
This was the season of Blue Moon by The Marcels.

My mother thought it was complete destruction of an old beautiful
song.  We all thought it was recently written.  Blue Moon stayed
at the top of the Billboard Hot 100 for three weeks.  How odd to
find out that there truly is a phenomenon known as a Blue Moon.

                 harvest time arrives
                 fine large crop to reap this Fall
                 under a blue moon 

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Youth’s Dreams

Written for: Poetic Boomings2 - Prompt #305 - Summer Leaves?

"When Summer leaves, Autumn comes rushing in. But, no one ever sings about Summer Leaves. So today I’ve listed part of the lyrics for Autumn Leaves. Use a phrase, word grouping or line in your poem, or as an inspiration and write that colorful piece."


(Lyrics by: Jacques Prévert in French and Johnny Mercer in English)

The falling leaves drift by my window
The falling leaves of red and gold
I see your lips the summer kisses
The sunburned hands I used to hold
Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall…

Beneath the green of Summer's canopy
we picnicked on baguettes, and softened Brie.
Your lips did press to mine, a Summer kiss.
With a sip of Chardonnay we felt pure bliss.

A silhouette of leaves upon the lake
tattooed shoulders, swimming 'til we ached.
A seafood dinner, side of sunburn
which did not deter making love, we learned.

'Twas season of our youth's exploration.
For several Summers, our expectation
was that we would always be together,
we'd take our vows, we'd promise forever.

That bloom of youth now edges toward Winter,
We are married, though not to each other.
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Gingerbread Cottage

Written for:  Sunday Whirl, Wordle #475

Words:  hypocrisy, lunch, foil, cat, why, fox, trust, sad, hoax,
miss, liars, cottage
Mrs. Fox lives
in a gingerbread
cottage.  She takes
considerable comfort
in her calico cat, 
Cosmo.  Distrusting
store-bought pet food,
she cooks breakfast,
lunch, and dinner
for them both,
thriftily wrapping
leftovers in foil.
Saddened at the sudden 
death of Mr. Fox, she
is content now, because
she has stopped questioning
the 'why' of it.
Mrs. Fox carefully culls
her friends, disdaining 
liars and hypocrites.
She and her coterie enjoy
a book club, and attending
movies. They never miss
an art exhibit, and ofttimes, 
get together for tea time 
in the cozy gingerbread cottage.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Nuzzling Buddies

Written for:  Sunday Muse #127 - "We've Got Cows . . . and Footnotes

A farm girl
left mostly
on her own.
She is never
Mutual love
and respect 
between farm girl
and farm animals.
Favorite friend
of hers is a chocolate 
cow.  They are
nuzzling buddies.

Posted in Purple's Home | 16 Comments

Lose The Smirk, Get To Work

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Meeting The Bar:  Protest Poetry
(posted by Grace)

"Write a Protest Poem with a theme (e.g. voting, social justice, peace & war, violence, women’s rights, human rights, environment, pandemic, etc) in your blog. This may be about as local as your community, or about your country, or about the world in general."

Wake Up!  Wake Up!
Earth does not revolve
around ego, mendacity,
egregiousness, wealth.

Wake Up! Wake Up!
Do not politically preen
while hundreds of thousands
are dying each day.

Wake Up! Wake Up!
Face your responsibility
as a Leader.  You should care
about more than your hair.

Wake Up! Wake Up!
Worried about a panic, yet 
having no direction, no plan, 
simply buckets of blame? 

Wake Up! Wake Up!
Every human being has
a right to live in peace,
and provide for family.

Wake Up! Wake Up!
Do the right thing–tell 
the truth, bitter or not.  
Hundreds of thousands are dying.

Wake Up! Wake Up!

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , | 25 Comments

Garter Belts

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #38:  A Helping String  (posted by Rommy)

"Think about things that act like a koshihimo (things meant
only as a temporary or hidden support)."

Then there were
those naughty
nylons.  Black 
seams divided
back of legs, fish-
nets tattooed sexy,
sculpted limbs.  Nude,
taupe, brown, and
black.  What held
these silken coverings
in perfect place?  Garter 
belts.  Some were lacy, 
some basic hardware.  All
had hanging clips.
You opened them,
put the stocking top
over the round piece,
and slid the fastener
into place  Voila!
You smoothed down
your skirt or dress,
and the garters
remained hidden . . .
unless of course,
they didn't.  
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , | 21 Comments

Not A Believer

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Let Your Words
Be your Paintbrush!  (posted by Lillian)

"In February 2018, I became acquainted with the often surreal art of Catrin Welz-Stein. She studied graphic design in Germany and then worked for several firms. On her own time, she began to experiment with mixed media, collages, paintings on canvas and digital art. Her process to create her art? She searches for license-free images and scours old books and magazines. She breaks images into pieces and then weaves them together with other images to create something entirely new. She is especially interested in folklore, fairy tales, surrealism, medieval times and Jugendstil (Art Noveau)."

"Below are four of her images. I have deliberately left off the titles so you will free-associate with them. Please select one of these images, include it with your post, and be sure to give credit to Catrin Welz-Stein with a link to her website You may write an ekphrastic poem in the purest sense, describing the image; or you may simply be motivated by the image and, letting it stir your imagination, write a poem that in some way, connects to the image."

Catrin Welz-Stein
Bird of the bulging
eye, a disbeliever
in magic, allows
the tiny top-hatted
gentlemen to ride
on his rear, fearing
he may fall off.
But surely that metal
key will be the force
to hold him steady.
Although a skeptic,
the bird does not wish
to see beyond that
strange keyhole, if
indeed the key even
fits.  This is a new
world.  What if it is
as disappointing 
as the other?  Bird
of the bulging eye
prefers to stick with 
what he knows.    

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 30 Comments

Close Your Eyes

Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe - Tuesday Writing Prompt
(Devereaux and Beth)

"Write a piece of prose or poetry that begins with:
Where I go, no one can follow."

Where I go
no one can follow,
so just to be sure
you follow the rules,
your only tools, I will
read them again:  You
all close your eyes,
count to fifty, then run
swiftly, and see if you
can find me.
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“she’s a leaf”

Written for:  The Twiglets #195 - "she's a leaf"

She's a leaf
I'm a twig
It's a relief
she weighs less than a pig.

In a butterfly
flutter, she sways
and becomes
a fallen leaf.

burnished red leaf
she picks up maple-shaped gift
to paste in her scrapbook

                 There once was a fellow named Leif
                 who enjoyed eating rare roast beef.
                          He met a vegan
                     who said, you know you can
         change your diet.  Try these lentils, I beseech.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , , | 6 Comments


Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille #112:
The Sky's The Limit"  (posted by whimsygizmo)

"Today, I shall paper-airplane-sail you the word sky.
Describe for us a skyline. Build a skyscraper of phrase. Scribe us something sky-blue true. Go skydiving into a rhyme. If you’ve been around dVerse any length of time, you know we love nouns used as verbs. So why not create your own usage? Can you sky a song? What would it mean to be skyshook, or bareskied?"

I sky-skied
to pudgy cloud.
in joy. Upon
arrival, cloud
teddy-beared me
into a hug. We
I cloud-watched
sky as dragons
blew fire,
and elephants
With darkness
shrouding us,
clouds began
to fade, sky
grayed, and I
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , | 26 Comments

Three Chapters of Me

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - Prompt #304
My Life In Words

"Your auto-biography begins here. Break up your life (up to this point in time) into three chapters. Give each chapter a title.
Write three brief poems (one for each title). For added pats on the back, give your “book” a title as well (the title of your three chapter story)."

Mississippi Blues

Eighteen year-old
air-force wife.
Not the life
I imagined,
not a place
to feel comfortable.
in a small space,
off panic attacks
when other wives
ask me to join
them. After a while,
they stopped asking.
Within a month
I see my life
as a great mistake.

Journey To Portland

Again my judgement
is clouded
by wants of another.
Complaints unbearable.
We move, knowing
one couple–friends
for forty years.
At first, I love
rides along the
coast, seeing post-
card beaches, Mt. Hood,
exploring antiques,
farmer's markets,
and myriad of art.
One year later,
friend's husband
dies. My own becomes
reclusive.  I yearn 
to be with family
and friends, as holidays
come and go. Husband
continues to slip into
depression. We return
to New York.

The Oddness of Aging

My writing blossoms,
brings me a varied
group of virtual friends
with which to share
poetry and emotion.
My sister and I are
closer. We have
fun trading books,
returning to the gym,
and taking long
invigorating walks.
The mirror shows
me the fault lines
in my face, reminding
me of how long I have
been on this earth.
I remove my glasses;
everything softens.
Wild to think I am in
the last age box
in every survey. They
haven't counted me
out yet.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Open The Roads

Written for:  Sunday Whirl, Wordle #474

Words:  democratic, deny, sychphants, end, sorrow, dead, turtle, hypocrite, ruthless, justice, sad, trump

Well Sufferin' Succotash!
These hypocritical sycophants
deny democracy, applaud
Trump's ruthless autocracy.
Sad time for American
justice.  Sorrowful turtles
who creep along, poking
their head out for a
Rah! Rah! Rah!  Meanwhile,
back in the real world,
we face a dead end.

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Written for:  Sunday Muse #126  (posted by Fireblossom)

Brooke Shaden
I erupt.
A volcano
of toxic
black smoke
hidden within
rises up,
clears pent-up
fires.  My body
is now pure
water, stamping
out scorching
flames, soothing
forests, that they
may grow green
and glorious again.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , | 21 Comments

Last Words

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #37:  Last Messages

"In East Asia (Japan, China, Korea) there is a long tradition of death poems called jisei, reflecting on one's own death and/or death in general. They are supposed to be written on the death-bed, or at least when death seems imminent, but they could be written earlier. In form they usually resemble haiku or tanka.

What would be your final message to the world?"

love and laughter
darkness and light
made up my life
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Homeless Child

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - For Your Consideration
It's Tragic!

Write this poem:

"The greatest tragedy is –––––––––"

A child is left alone
scared, hungry.
You look at her and wonder how
this can be.  You bemoan–
she looks young,
practicing her keep-away frown.

Amidst group of others–
tired, thin.
Where can these children's parents be,
ill, jailed, single mothers
with no kin?
Weather will grow wintry.

Will they be forced indoors,
a shelter?
Sometimes a hellish place, unclean.
They need so much more–
core, center, 
family.  Think what that could mean.  

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Raccoon Riot

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - InForm Poet - Stornello
Italian tercet, 11 syllables per line - aaa end rhyme

The raccoon now faced garbage cans with locked lids
Outraged, he climbed to deck, ravaged plants, and slid
off, mischief done like a spoiled get-even kid.
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Broken Shadows

Written for:  dVerse Poets Prompt - Poetry: 9 Across For A Countdown
(posted by Laura Bloomsbury)

Use one of these lines:

. It seems as though you are still summer (cite Merwin)
. Broken shadows across the cracked ground (cite Merwin)
. The earthed lightning of a flock of swans (cite Heaney)
. One side is wild with foam and glitter (cite Heaney)

*Broken shadows across the cracked ground,
elongated sticks of Summer.
Early inked lines of season
shortening its daylight
hours, welcoming Fall
to fill the skies,
chill the air,
turn leaves

*Line from Merwin

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 19 Comments

Legend Has It

Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe - Tuesday Writing Prompt by
Devereaux and Beth - "sapphire stardust"

Legend has it
that each time
the lake sparkles
sapphire blue
under a full moon,
lovers are sprinkled
with stardust.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

“catch one”

Written for:  The Twiglets #194 - "catch one"

Catch one
falling leaf
and you will not
catch a cold.

The catch is
you cannot
just eat one.

line dangles in lake
expectant boy holds a rod
not a fish in sight

                A boy who preferred books to sports
                received good marks on his reports.
                    His brother worried that
                     he'd be blind as a bat.
Bought him a racket, and watched tennis scores soar.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Protected By the Moon

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Prosery Monday: 
Moonbeams and Moon Dreams  (posted by Merrill)

"Prosery is prose that includes a line from a poem. I will give you the line, and then you incorporate it into a short prose piece. This can be either flash fiction, nonfiction, or creative nonfiction, but it must be prose! And it must be no longer than 144 words, not including the title. It does not have to be exactly 144 words.

You must use the line that I give you below. You may change punctuation and capitalize words, but you are not allowed to insert words in between parts of the sentence."

“In their dreams
they sleep with the moon.”–From Mary Oliver, “Death at Wind River”

The children who never feel safe
during daylight hours
are pale, skinny, and sad. They
try to quiet the house, staying
in one room, waiting to hear
the click-click of mom’s high
heels. Dare not wake dad
who sleeps, snores, and grunts
during daylight hours. Should
he wake, his eyes slit, his face
roars red as a polished apple.
Mom comes home worn, and wary, 
but with a sweet smile 
for her children. When bedtime 
draws near, the children settle 
under yellow quilts. In their dreams,
they sleep with the moon
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , | 10 Comments

Autumn’s Gift

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Writers' Pantry #37:  Rise of the stink bugs  (posted by Rommy)

"As someone who loves to notice the cycles of nature around me, and tries to find the beauty of every season, I try to think of it less as “argh… that’s the 9th stink bug I’ve thrown out of the house this morning” and more “ah, well, I guess the cooler weather is here to stay, so I can dig out my favorite sweaters and enjoy chai tea”. At least that’s my goal. What seasonal things do you look forward to?"

Colors, colors, colors–
mustard, fiery orange,
robust red.  I stop
looking over my shoulder
for wasps.  My gaze
is glued to trees'
hues.  Some leaves fall
early, nicely crunchable.
Air feels fresher
on my face, cooler breeze
invigorates.  Pumpkins
on vines, hot apple
cider, add to season's
scintillating scents.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments

Burn Into Light

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #36 - "a phoenix first must burn"

"Write new poetry or prose inspired by the phrase:
"a phoenix first must burn"  (Posted by Magaly)"

Mother Nature was
pissed off.  
Father Time said there 
was not much left.  Humans
had decimated earth.
Floods frequently reached
new heights, mighty fires
burned throughout
the land.  Cities were
wiped out, people along
with them.  Violent
virus swept in.  No one
had a plan for combating

Some years later,
Mother Nature watched
her children bloom.
Father Time set down
his watch.  The world
had transformed to 
a glorious place once more.  
Only animals survived.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

The Klutz

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - Prompt #303
Now That's Awkward!

Complete this simile:

"As awkward as __________"

                A man who was grocery shopping
               reached for a jar of fudge topping
                   He stretched out his hand
                watched jars topple from stand
Mop, aisle two! Stuck shoes, as awkward as clown feet flopping.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments


Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #473

Words:  face, flex, loon, tense, times, joy, bloom, moon, present, wrinkle, reflect, overcome

Wrinkles ironed
into your face
reflect tense
and present. 
Do you feel
a need to overcome
them by mourning
like a loon, or
purchasing products
that promise rose
-bloom of youth.  Seek
out craggy face of
a midnight moon; makes
you swoon.  Joy jumps
into your life when
you moon-gaze.  Positively
flexuous, that's you!
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

Whose Feather Is This?

Written for:  The Sunday Muse #125

Fox and Feathers

Smells somewhat like
a bluebird I once met.
He flew off before
I could get to know
him.  This feather
is too big.  Maybe 
it belongs to an eagle, 
too big for a seagull.
Eagles are powerful,
not afraid of
any other bird.
If I was an eagle
I could fly 
to distant places.
That would be fun, but
Mom and Dad would miss me.
I'm still a pup, you know?

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , , | 22 Comments

Twelve Reasons

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - For Your Consideration -
Wake Up Call

"Write a list poem:  Twelve Good Reasons To Sleep In"

- No morning appointments, no place I have to be

- So cuddly under the covers

- I can listen to softly falling rain

- One dog at foot of bed, other on floor next to my side.
  Acrobatic skills needed to get up.

- Looking out bedroom window, I find myself eye level with snow

- It is still dark out

- Room feels freezing cold

- Dental appointment I could later claim to have forgotten

- State of the world may have worsened

- Because I can
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Self Sketch

Written for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Come and take a Selfie!
(posted by sarahsouthwest)

"One of the great things about dVerse is that people write regularly. I feel I know many of you in a very special way, through your poetry. And equally, I’ve told you things about myself – consciously and unconsciously – that I wouldn’t normally tell people, because that’s what poetry does. It opens us up.

For this prompt, I wanted to make that very explicit. I’d like to see some self-portraits.
If you were giving me a portrait of someone else, you might pull out one feature, or one incident, or start telling me about their eyebrows and head off somewhere completely different. I’d like a self-portrait that does something like that. By the end of this we might not know what colour your eyes are, but we might know what inspires you, or how you take your coffee."

A sketch, an outline–
no table of internal
contents.  People say
I look confident 
and calm.  Under
the surface is a
ticking bomb.  If you look 
strong, do you suppose
you can grow into
that look?  Hair is curly
now with age.  Don't
know why.  Blue eyes
search the glass
but never for long. I am
happiest when my
sarcastic sense
of humor makes others
laugh, when my imagination
in writing soars,
and when I am reading 
a book I love.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 18 Comments

Ripped Away

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - Narrative
Narrative poetry is poetry that tells a story.
In its broadest sense, it includes epic poetry;
some would reserve the name narrative poetry for works 
on a smaller scale and generally with more direct appeal 
to human interest than the epic.

An example of a narrative poem would be:

The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe

In boyhood a love of football
occupied him after school
work was done.  Rangy, and tall,
he metamorphosed to teenage cool.

He turned to experimenting,
beginning what would be
a lifelong love of smoking
cigarettes, occasionally weed.

His mother and father, estranged
from early years, left him with mom,
who turned boy against dad with rage.
In later life, boy felt time had come

to seek out dad.  He'd grown to a man.
Father and son became a close team.
Son's second marriage produced Stan,
a son, and father vowed never to leave.

Moving up in the business world
he used his technical skills.
Respect was easily earned
as he possessed wit and good will.

He should have had a good, long life
but it was taken–ripped away
when his tower fell under strife
on a sunny September day.
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Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe - Tuesday Writing Prompt 
(with Beth and Amanda)

"Write a piece of poetry that ends with, 'in the end,
we were just a moment'."

Starting out fresh, 
we thought romance 
would last forever.
Innocent, we could not
foresee change.  Yet
it came sweeping in
like a magician's 
wand.  In the end,
we were just a moment.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments


Written for:  The Twiglets #193 - "out-of-focus"

She thought her eyes
were out of focus
when she saw the work
of Jackson Pollack.

Please focus me
out of the photo.

watches bluebird 
from tree with binoculars
cracked, out of focus

                    A woman who viewed life in focus
                      was a victim of hocus-pocus.
                        In the house of mirrors
                        she developed shivers,
                  hopelessly finding each exit was bogus.

Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

The Foolish Eavesdropper

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille #111 - What's That Rustling in the Eaves?  "eavesdropping"  (posted by Kim)

Under eaves
surrounded by
oak trees, a boy
in silence,
to voices
Shall he
call the cops,
to eavesdropping–
wrong place,
wrong time,
he thinks. Dare he
creep closer,
find the source?
Through the window,
scene unfolds
on television.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 14 Comments

Seasons Scuffling By

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Writers' Pantry #36:  Change of Season  (posted by Rosemary)

"Hello wordsmiths, this is Rosemary. And we're in September 
already – so soon! Here, it's the beginning of Spring. 
For most of you it's the start of Autumn – or Fall, 
if you live in the USA. (We can't call Autumn 'Fall' in Australia. Most of our native trees are evergreen and don't shed 
their leaves.)  So we're right at the point of change."

"It's that for me personally, too. I get to join in the prompting 
now, for the first time – whether devising some of the specific topics for our Weekly Scribblings, or hosting the 
Writers' Pantry where you yourselves decide the actual subject matter."

Summer seemed the shortest of seasons
people losing businesses, many
unemployed.  Awful illness spreading, pleas
for treatment, a cure–there isn't any.

We look forward to Autumn, still masked,
hoping for knowledge of what to expect.
Scientists are faced with this grueling task
pressured by need, and political stiff-necks.

Leaves will change color as they always do
each year.  Pumpkins will be plentiful
to pick, and apples in scented view.
Following season, our thoughts turn to wool.

Surely by Winter, we'll have an answer
and our lives will begin a new chapter.
Posted in Purple's Home | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments


Written for:  Sunday Whirl, Wordle #472

Words:  ability, delight, failure, crappy, flex, see, watch, crinkle,
        scoff, fold, complete, jaw

As clown outfits go,
Chubby's was crappy.
Some material was worn
so thin, as to be see-
through.  Ruffles crinkled,
and his huge-numbered watch
kept slipping off his thin
wrist.  Chubby was unbothered
by people who scoffed, mocked
his demeanor, or thought him
a failure.  Tonight was his
last performance.  Young
children in the audience
still had the ability to be
delighted by Chubby.  He
flexed his gloved fingers,
folded himself in half,
and wiggled muscles
in his jaw.  The kids yelled
for more.  Chubby ended
his career completely happy. 

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I Remember Her Emerald Gown

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - Prompt #302 - "I Remember"
"A lifetime is filled with many memorable moments. So much 
history has passed through our lives like sand through 
our fingers, and it causes us to take pause. What is 
something you recall from your lives, as simple as that."

Mom in an emerald satin
gown, her hair freshly
coiffed in an upswept
flip.  Another affair–
Bar Mitzvah, wedding–
only occasion to get Dad
into a suit.  At that time,
everyone dressed to kill.
Mom wasn't much for jewelry,
but liked when I helped her
with make-up.  Mom and Dad
looked the part 
of a sophisticated couple.  
I was in charge of 
my younger sister.  We watched 
them leave.  Mom looked lovely
in her emerald satin gown,
that perfectly matched
her eyes.
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Unusual State of Being

Written for: The Sunday Muse #124 (posted by Carrie)

Don't know how I got up
here.  The den was partying,
celebrating the birth
of a new cub.  I am not
much of a drinker, dulls
my senses.  I remember
ordering one glass
of blood wine, and then . . .
nothing.   Someone slipped
something menacing
into my drink.  My mane
is dripping with sweat,
and I have a roar of
a headache.  The joker
had better own up
to his deed.  I need
to get off this tree.
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Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #35:  The Joy of Rest  (posted by Rommy)
"Write about rest."

Rest for the body,
rest for the mind.
A recharging
to quiet tense muscles,
to slow the grind

-ing of teeth in your sleep.
the news can turn
your brain to mush,
anger rises like bile.
Anxiety prompts stomach to churn

and heartburn.  Give it a break.
Open a book with no violence,
meditate with eyes closed.
Sit beside a pebbled stream,
and know the sound of silence.

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This New Life

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - InForm Poet:  Tri-Fall
"The Tri-fall consists three 6-line stanzas, for a total of 18 lines.
The rhyme scheme is a,b,c,a,b,c and meter for each stanza is as follows: 6/3/8, 6/3/8.
This form requires little to no punctuation and can be written on any subject matter."

Anxiously I ponder
this new life–
businesses closing left and right
Praise those first responders
midst of strife
All searching for a healing light

Apartment houses vacant.
sales of homes are down,
every part of life affected.
Violence becomes blatant
people drown
in storms, others are infected.

What will Autumn bring us–
vibrant hues
of tree's apparel, new bird song?
Distraction is a plus,
before news
of Flu season coming 'fore long.
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“into fall’s hands”

Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe = Tuesday Writing Prompt
Today’s prompt: into fall’s hands  (Devereaux and Amanda)

into fall's hands
last leaves that denude trees
scatter on sidewalks 

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“foreign tongues”

Written for:  The Twiglets #192 - "foreign tongues:

How many people
hear you speaking
in a foreign tongue?

His tongue was foreign to her.

starts first day of school
carries backpack and his lunch
does not speak English

                    There was a man from Kalamazoo
                    quite proficient on the kazoo.
                       He played late at night
                       causing many a fight.
        Though he blew nice tunes, neighbors threatened to sue.

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Seeking Cool

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday - Take a Hike!
(posted by Frank T.)
"Write a haibun using the word, "hike".

Thinking back to days when we could not wear pants to school
or work.  As a teen, I would leave the house with a knee length 
skirt.  Before I entered school, I'd hike up my skirt, and roll
the waist several times to keep it in place.  Of course then,
I had to wear long sweaters or blouses to hide a bulging waist
roll.  Ah, things teenage girl do to be cool.

      multi-colored kite
      boy tries to catch the wind right
      soars up, tail zig-zags

Haibun Monday 8/31/20: Take a Hike!
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Faces of Rain

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - Prompt #301
"Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

"Write on any aspect of rain."

Rain reigns supreme
in this new world
of deluge
and destruction.
Tears rain down
faces of those
who have lost all,
but themselves.  Dare
we hope for a rainbow
at the end?
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Written for:  Sunday Whirl, Wordle #471

Words:  scent, vanguard, glancing, breath, love, impact, captive, cornbread, accent, journey, moon, power

She held him
captive with her
powerful scent of
Jasmine Moon,
impacting his breath
as he whispered
his love.  Accent
my journey, he begged,
glancing at her emerald
eyes.  Let us be vanguards
of the new world.
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sunflower haiku

Written for: Sunday Muse #123

sunflowers, heads bent
in a field of yellow and black
one holds out hope
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Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Meeting The Bar:  verbing  (posted by Bjorn)

"Verbs turn the wheels and are so much more interesting than other word classes.
Alas, our world is filling up with things, we have warehouses filling up with objects. Innate and passive they sit there, waiting for you, and there are simply too few verbs to move them.
We just have those useless nouns gathering dust.

For example, how do you elevator, firework, or butterfly?
Or is it butterflew in the past tense?
Verbing is a great tool that can also be a tool for imagery and metaphors.

For example we may firework in rage or in orgasm, you decide. What do you do if you marmalade?
Come carousel with me tonight, forget your days of spreadsheeting.
So find a few creative nouns (or use some of the examples I have given) and weave a poem around them."

I wagon-train in rural areas
mailmanning to folks out yonder.
In Winter, I JimBeam–just nips.
When the wife is not around,
I camel.  Hope she doesn't
smell it on my clothes.  When
bone-tired after a trip,
I chair myself, and put
my feet up.  Wagon-training's
not an easy job.
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Building Blocks

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #34:  Foundation  (posted by Rommy)

"Today I am asking you to consider the word foundation and use that to build up your words."

One of my fondest
memories is the sight
of printed matter–books,
magazines, newspapers–
as an essential part
of my childhood home.
I loved the ability
to ask questions 
related to history,
current events, politics.
Dad always had a pile
of newspapers to catch
up on, and he did.  Mom
devoured new books.  Later
in life we would discuss
them as my sister and I
do now.  That base built
up my love of reading,
a sure segue into writing.

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The Day She Changed Her Life

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United  (posted by Magaly)
Weekly Scribblings #33:  "swallow screams for dinner" (words by 
Chrissa Sandlin)

Write a new poem or prose which includes the phrase, "swallow
screams for dinner"

He taunted her
with words of abuse,
in front of their children.
She allowed him

to make her feel
like a worthless fool.
She never knew
when he would throw

his food on the floor,
claiming it inedible.
One day she took
the kids and left him.

No longer would her
throat tighten, and she
have to swallow screams
for dinner.

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What of Beauty

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 - InForm Poet:  Quatern
A Quatern is a sixteen-line French form composed of four quatrains.
- It is similar to the Kyrielle and the Retourne.
- It has a refrain that revolves to a different place in each
- The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two,
  third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four.
- A quatern usually has eight syllables per line. It does not have to
  be iambic, or follow a specific rhyme scheme.

What is of true beauty in this world?
color of fish as they glide by
in a glass water wall inside
a peaceful aquarium.

Ignoring the imprints of man,
what is of true beauty in this word?
bottom of an ancient tree, humped
by roots of an elephant’s foot.

Heaven of sky transformed from day
to scarlet and plum of twilight
What is of true beauty in this world?,
you ask, as night’s curtain beckons stars.

With human destruction, ignorance
of science, and animal’s lack
of land, food, will Mother Nature take
what is of true beauty in this world?
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“jampots and butter”

Written for:  The Twiglets - "jampots & butter"

Well butter me up
and slather me with jam–
haven't seen you in ages!

I am a blackberry jampot
thick and fragrant, looking for spot.
A creamy soft butter 
would make my berries flutter.

boy peers in fridge
sees an empty pot of jam
spies fresh block of butter

              A young man was often in a jam
               with a woman of many demands.
                 He ended it one night
                surprised at the sight
            of her tears flowing like a dam.

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