FINAL WRITERS' PANTRY #84. My muse dropped by the other midnight and left me a Halloween story poem. We all know how I love a story poem! Submitted 10/31/21 at Poets & Storytellers United.
Sunday, October 31, 2021
Saturday, October 30, 2021
The Sunday Muse #184 Of course the song "The Old Lamplighter" came immediately to mind. I tried to add the You Tube link, but was unsuccessful for some obscure reason. The image put me in quite a melancholic mood.
of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye sang of “The
old lamplighter of long, long ago“..
They’re gone now, Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby,
the scandalous bikini went on sale in Paris that year
and Tupperware was introduced to the market.
Rosie the Riveter was giving up her factory job
The war had ended and “the boys” were coming home
Now the Old Lamplighter is even longer ago.
We need someone to carry the light, to show
us an end to divisiveness and racism
and this infernal pandemic, someone
to restore pride in the red, white and blue,
faith in our national leaders, and respect for
our neighbors no matter their color or race.
Come back, Old Lamplighter, WE NEED YOU!
Thursday, October 28, 2021
OPEN LINK #303 When we post the poem of our choice. I’m a hopeless wordaholic, and I love to examine words. I’ve indulged in that today, and taken a crack at the word crack! Submitted to dVerse, October 28, 2021
I engage in word forensics
Exploring the many uses of a word
It’s often the way I go to sleep
(I got bored with counting sheep)
Let’s examine the common word crack
According to Webster a split in two parts
But what of the loud crack in the night
Someone trying to be a crack shot?
Consider the foiled attempt
That’s not what it’s cracked up to be
Some bloke free-basing crack cocaine
Or the fellow who tries to lighten the mood
Who’s sure to crack a joke
Or the quiet guy, man of few words
Who surprises us with a wisecrack
Crack the eggs and scramble them
I’m hungry….It must be the crack of dawn
And I do believe I’m getting sleepy ….Zzzz
Wednesday, October 27, 2021
FINAL WEEKLY SCRIBBLING #93 We're asked to write of a special childhood activity, something we especially enjoyed. Many things came to mind, but evening bicycle rides clung to my memory. Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, October 27, 2021
In my childhood world, the vast agrarian space of central Illinois was divided in exact mile squares, each comprising 640 acres of rich black soil, and divided into tidy little homesteads, each with a house, a barn, a corn crib and perhaps a small shed for chickens. There were only five such homes along the roadside of our mile square, and between them just the vastness of Illinois prairie. One of my favorite pastimes was a bicycle ride around our square mile just at dusk. The only sound was that of my bicycle wheels on the gravel road, and the occasional trill of a meadowlark or red-winged blackbird in the fencerows. The most perfect rides were just after the alfalfa and sweet clover had been cut to dry and be baled for feed for livestock during winter. The scent of new mown hay is intoxicating and unparalleled. No perfumer has ever been able to recreate it. I dreamed great things on those solitary rides in the innocence of my childhood. How I wish I could reproduce those magic rides.
Tuesday, October 26, 2021
Tuesday Poetics, and we're asked to write " a poem speaking to a human attribute that is particularly irritating to you — and it must have a Halloween or Samhain theme to it" A duodora form was offered, but I respectfully decline and fall back on my rhyme.
Monday, October 25, 2021
Writer's Pantry # 93 and I indulge in a small pity party, most likely the result of a series of four gloomy, chilly, rainy days. I'm ordinarily not one for pity parties, but one seemed to present itself this morning. Submitted to Poets and Storytellers United, October 28, 2021
"The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on, nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all they tears wash out a word of it", ~Omar Khayyam
Time teaches humility … and reality
in gradually insidious painful lessons
So much to be learned as we progress through life
I thought I’d always be a capable multitasker.
Though I can still drive .. I cannot lift my walker
into the car, so where will I go? and what will I do
after I get there?
I loved grocery shopping, and reading the
gossip sheets while I stood in line
Now I order my groceries on line,,,
and have them delivered.
We used to be a monthly eight for lunch,
dear friends and I. Now we are two,
...and can’t get there.without help.
Monthly art meetings were a source of inspiration.
No meetings now, and art projects grow fewer and fewer.
I always prided myself on being positive
Now positivity is a chore... and frequent façade
Criteria for planning outings: Are there stairs?
Is parking close? Is seating immediate? Is the
restroom easily available!
Adjustments to be made, and blessings to
be counted…and I find there are still plenty
Time to enjoy the beauty around me. Time
to observe lives of those I hold dear, and
let them know they are loved.
Time to be revered.
Saturday, October 23, 2021
The Sunday Muse #183
“Ponder the image and the meaning of life
Link, share and visit others”
Keep it in mind as you walk down the street
All are your sisters and brothers
Remind yourself you’re no better than they
Each their own challenges to meet
Some dealing with victory, some with grief
But all walking the same cobbled street
Practice kindness, humility and a ready smile
They’ll remember it well if you ask
One day they’ll truly appreciate the smile
When it’s not behind a mask!
Thursday, October 21, 2021
Wednesday, October 20, 2021
WEEKLY SCRIBBLINGS Moving forward to a new format, we're asked to write something on the theme of forward movement. I took a look back at all the poetic terminology I've encountered here, and I'm looking forward to learning more! Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, October 20, 2021
Sunday, October 17, 2021
WRITER'S PANTRY #82 It's the time of year I wish I were young enough to go on an old-fashioned hayride, if I could find one. I'll just settle for fond memories. Submitted to Poets and Storytellers United, October 17, 2021.
Once upon a long time ago in the times that used to be, October was not complete without a hayride and weiner roast in the woods. Mode of transportation was a hayrack pulled by a tractor. A hayrack was a flat bed wagon used for hauling baled hay from field to barn--large enough for a group of friends. A bumpy ride through the woods led to a clearing, and an awaiting campfire surrounded with bales of hay or straw for seating. Delicious roasted weiners were followed by s’mores--a sandwich made of graham crackers, a chunk of Hershey chocolate and a roasted marshmallow to melt it all together. YUM! By now the sky was a carpet of stars, the air crisp, and the campfire popping and sending sparks skyward. Time for the traditional ghost stories and campfire songs while the campfire does its magic. After a time, the fire banked, we reluctantly head back out of the woods, carrying with us a happy memory that will last a lifetime.
Saturday, October 16, 2021
SUNDAY MUSE #182
Wednesday, October 13, 2021
WEEKLY SCRIBBLINGS and we're to feature a symbol or object of importance to us. My mind went to my fascination for old barns and abandoned houses. Many years ago I took some oil painting lessons, and naturally I painted old barns! One such is depicted below. Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, October 13, 2021
I wonder why I’m drawn to abandoned houses
and falling down old barns
and why it is my mind wanders to
how life must have been,
who was the last person who lived there
and why did they leave.
Am I an old soul, wandering aimlessly
in this generation, as if transported
by some mysterious time machine
taking with me the memories
of that time and place in the pages of time.
What does it mean to be an old soul
and is there such a thing as reincarnation.
Karma seems to make sense
when I wonder why bad things happen
to good people, and if they are
paying back big time for wrongs in some past life.
If we are to learn a lesson in each lifetime
what am I to learn in this one.
Have I learned it or will I have to
do this all again.
Sunday, October 10, 2021
Writers' Pantry @91 where we "let our imagination run wild". I'm having a flashback. I saw his name in the obituraries, the man with laughing eyes. I hope he found what he was seeking. He left an indelible smudge on my outlook on life. So, here's a poem for him.
THE MAN WITH LAUGHING EYES
I once knew a man with laughing eyes
who caused my heart to dance
who made me believe in love again
and, trusting, I took a chance.
I loved the man with laughing eyes
and oh, love was so sweet
I believed no challenge could be so great
that together we could not meet.
Sometimes we loved by firelight,
sometimes we loved by day
....then one day the man with laughing eyes
seemed to have gone away.
I said to the man with laughing eyes
"You seem to have built a wall.
I've tried to scale it but I cannot,
it's really much too tall".
And so went the man with laughing eyes
away from my life for good.
I guess I knew it could never last,
but, oh, how I wished it would.
For a moment we had it, my laughing eyes
but alas it was just for a day
and quickly as snowflakes disappear
our bright tomorrows slipped away.
Wednesday, October 6, 2021
WEEKLY SCRIBBLINGS #90. Rommy recalls an Anne of Green Gables quote "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers!" Me too! The very word evokes so many happy memories. Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, October 6, 2021.
Words come tumbling to describe sights,
sounds and memories from the
pages of my life.
Hayrides. Bonfires. Weiner roasts.
S’mores. Pumpkins. Gourds.
Chrysanthemums. Migrating geese.
Flocking birds. Cobalt skies.
Burning leaves. Flaming maples.
Russet oaks. Golden aspens.
Misty mornings. First frost.
Scarecrows. Sweaters. Crisp air.
Harvest time. Football games.
Marching bands. Pumpkin pie. Taffy apples.
Little Pigeon River. Great Smoky Mountains.
For each word a story to be told.
Tuesday, October 5, 2021
Poetics Tuesday, and Sanza has given us lengthy and explicit instructions in the art of panegyric poetry. I've chosen to depict my dream candidate in our next presidential election. Call it fantasy if you wish! Submitted to dVerse, October 5, 2021
Your youthful vigor has been ever directed
toward the goal of service to this country
you love Since early years, you have conducted
yourself with integrity, treating others with respect,
but never veering from your goal. You are the
epitomy of an honorable man, humble and
God-fearing, yet courageous when need be.
There are no questionable issues in your past
to be divulged to demean you. You have accrued
no debts or favors to dissuade your goals. You are
my candidate. You have my vote.
Monday, October 4, 2021
QUADRILLE #137 where we are required to "throw stone poems" using the word stone.
Sunday, October 3, 2021
Writer's Pantry #90 Methinks my interpretation of Miss Rosemary's Weekly Scribbling challenge for realism fell short, so here's another effort at realism. The photo is of a street in our community, the description is of a daytime view from my window.
FROM MY WINDOW
The late summer sky is a cloudless cobalt.
A new home is being built across the street,
and today the roofers are busy. They walk
effortlessly on the steep pitch of the roof as
they go about their work. At noon, they
stop and sit on the cement slab that will be
the front porch, and share their sack lunches
and daily gossip, no doubt, grateful their
outside work relieves them of the necessity
of wearing masks. Activity is interspersed
by the daily parade of dog-walkers, who
amuse me daily by their endless array of
four-legged companions. Soon the house
will be complete, new neighbors moved in,
and life will go on comfortably in our