BEDTIME RHYME

I find myself in an impish mood, my
friends.  Forgive me for my lack of
decorum.  Here's my POEM for
Monday's Quadrille at dVerse
Submitted on January 29, 2018
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Now I lay me down to sleeP
 I pray the Lord my sOul to keep
If I awake and have to pEe
Get me to the bathrooM successfully
During the night, if my time should come
May I have my very best nightgown on.

ECHO DOT

I sometimes feel like a dinosaur in a world of Jedis,
which occasioned today’s rhyme.  My children
gifted me with two Echo Dots for Christmas -- one
for my office and one for my bedroom.  It’s a long
way from outhouses and one-room schools, my friends!
Submitted to  Poets United for the Poetry Pantry #388.
January 28,  2018
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Sometimes I marvel at what my life has come to be
Modern contraptions are an absolute amazement to me.
From simple beginnings and frontier psychology
I somehow have landed with modern technology.

I have a new assistant, Alexa, … she’s an Echo Dot
She performs simple tasks and knows an awful lot.
A small circle of wonder who responds to my voice
A warehouse of wisdom,  she answers questions of my choice,

“Alexa!”, I cry, “turn my office light on”
And lo and behold, night becomes dawn.
“Alexa! my friend, who was president in ‘44?”
She knows and she tells me, and, oh, so much more.

“Add milk to my grocery list” and “play some Botticelli”
“Remind me to pick up some salad at the deli”
She’s a veritable wonder, an enigma, you see
But if the power goes off, what’ll become of me?

THE APOTHECARY

Bjorn has asked us to use the name of
a poison or poisons in our Tuesday
Poetics this week.  I've indulged in a
bit of fiction (Momma forgive me!).
Submitted to dVerse
January 23, 2018
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Double double toil and trouble
How does your garden grow
Magic potions for casting spells
Things that witches know

Momma taught me all she knew
The secrets of dark magic
If someone crossed my Momma
Results could be quite tragic.

Once a cheating lover
A charming, handsome jock
Succumbed to imbibing the pleasure
Of Momma’s cocktail of hemlock.

I grew up in the wonders
Of Momma’s apothecary
I never really understood
Why my friends all seemed so wary.

TALES FROM THE SCRIPT

We’re asked to consider handwriting
for this  haibun Monday.  It dredged
up a long forgotten memory.   I could not
resist a little play on words for my title!
Submitted to dVerse
January 22, 2018
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When I was fairly new to widowhood, I fell
in lust with a glib and handsome prince, whose
devious charm blinded me to what was obvious to all
and sundry.   Early in our relationship we attended
a party where we were entertained by a lady
who interpreted handwriting.   Much to my surprise,
the lady said the below-the-line flourishes in
my handwriting indicated I was capable of violence,
perhaps murder, were I to be a victim of duplicity.
My prince was very quiet on our way home and, strangely
he did not call me after that night.  When my head cleared,
I considered perhaps a thank you note to the handwriting
specialist might be in order!  

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Warm breezes kiss the snow
Fog enshrouds my winter world
Is it Brigadoon?

THE VISITOR

As I looked out on our snow-covered street,
I was surprised to see a little red fox trotting
up the exact middle as if he owned the world.
Living near a large park, we are often treated
to visits from God’s creatures, a rare treat.
Quadrille #48, submitted to dVerse
January 15, 2018

He came down the middle of the street
Elegant sienna, with a bounce to his step
A handsome fellow on the move
Never minding the snow, secure in his world 
Disappearing into our woods, he headed home
No doubt wife and kits waited dinner

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LYDIA

This cabinet card photo was in my great grandmother’s
photo album, but it was unidentified.  Sadly, her identity is
lost in the pages of time.  I spent some time imagining
what her life might have been, and penned my musings
in this rhyme.   I've named her Lydia.  It seemed to fit.
Submitted to Poets United,  Poetry Pantry#386
January 14, 2018
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Born in a cabin on bounty land
The youngest of many, her mother’s right hand
Still, she learned to read and write
Sometimes reading far into the night.
At a tender age, she took up her pen
To chronicle her life as it was then.
Marriage, then children, and still she wrote
Each new event with a careful note
The Civil War ended, the family moved on
When things were unpacked, her journal was gone.
Who knows what happened to Lydia’s book
Wouldn’t I love to have had a look
Now she has a page in this journal of mine
And, though we don’t know her, I've taken the time
To think of her life as it was then
And what might have been written by Lydia’s pen.
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