Writing Prompt #118

Prompt #118

Thiings

March 4, 2011

Hi ,

Rhyming is not always easy or cool. You all ventured into the rhyme arena and did GREAT! And I love how you're not afraid to post.. we've reached a wonderful comfort level in this club.. thanks for sharing! Sometimes going the places you would not necessarily go to on your own, stretches the creative juices for the places you'll go next.

Featured Writer Susan Clare

Doubt

Doubt, doubt pesky ole doubt
Working within, working without
What if I have nothing to say?
That dog gone doubt’s getting in my way

Coasting along with the wind in my hair
Feeling inspired, don’t have a care
Until doubt rides along tugging at my sleeve
Annoying as heck, I wish it would leave

Doubt shares that other people really know
They’ve got what it takes, they’ve got the glow
Doubt tells me to stay in a corner, in a chair
Maybe that’s where I’m needed I resign in despair

But what is this calling, this hooting within
Is it Athena’s owl warning me not to give in?
This is a struggle and a bit of strife
To feel a bit weakened by the recent loss of life

For now I’ll ride along with doubt by my side
Knowing that the scenery is changing, time I will bide
A circle to remind me, when I soon forget
There’s a reason, a purpose for the inspiration I get

So chatter away doubt, chatter away as you will
I’ll listen for a while, until you are still
Then I’ll sneak away, sitting in my circle to ground
Asking Spirit to guide me from lost to found

Sitting at my computer, writing lesson plans for the writing lesson I am planning to teach tonight, Jill Badonsky pops through my computer screen. She looks amazing, all those squiggly little birds and arrows and flowers and things whizzing around her head. Aside from her odd-smelling breath it’s a perfect vision. “Are you a contemporary version of Our Lady of Guadelupe?” I ask. “Don’t flatter yourself,” Jill replies.”You have to do more than write a lousy lesson plan to get her attention. I’m Our Lady of Writalotta and I’m a bit puzzled by your agenda for tonight’s class. Grammar test, really? Review MLA citations? Is that all you’ve got?” Sheepish, I mumble something about the syllabus and department guidelines. Great lightning bolts in pink and puce begin to shoot from her head. “Fine,” she fumes. “It’s your buck. Well, your ten bucks. Somehow I thought someone who so quickly invokes the Muse would at least haul her ass into class now and then. Think about it, writing teacher!” In a poof of green smoke and symetry, Jill was gone, pulled back into the screen like an email getting sucked into the trash basket on an iphone. Sitting now, at my computer, writing lesson plans for the writing lesson I am planning to teach today, I reconsider.

Posted by: Linda Chapman | 03/22/2010 at 06:50 AM

Middle of the Day Munchies

Dawn…whisk, roll, caress
graceful crimping, manic yen
sweet artful zest…dusk.

Posted by: Peggy | 03/22/2010 at 09:31 AM

Mid-Day Sabbatical for an Exhausted Balladist

On a purple-winged turtle, a rainbow dotted
scarf about his middle, words flutter through
billows of cotton candy clouds climbing
high on autobahns of clamoring brainstorms.

Out of the vapors, summer’s last creamsicle-orange
sunset ponders its final intentions of the day
teetering upon the earth’s edge with a horizon
mimicking a silky layer of chocolate pudding.

As our lyricless voyage resumes, we bank
along magic carpets of swiggly, pink and green
contrails, welcoming dusk’s twinkling stars,
bypassing a gaggle of giggling grey gooses.

Smiling moon leisurely begins its rise reflected
perfectly in an unspoiled mountain lake below,
mirroring our journey, we catch a glimpse of our
antics, grinning at the thought of this…a vacation?

Helping themselves to a sip and slurp, docile
deer and unassuming antelope sway their antlers
in unison as if to encourage the flying turtle
and me to enjoy our much needed meditation.

The sky darkens, a signal to bring closure to
this never-wanting-to-end escapade of creative
and audacious mischief my hard-shelled,
purple-winged friend was so kind to maneuver.

Home sweet home, consonants coagulate,
letters alliterate and words are wed
to create romantic rhymes of rant and rave,
making shadows dance a ditty til dawn.

Posted by: Peggy | 03/22/2010 at 09:36 AM

Something is buzzing, she wonders what on earth is occurring. Is this real, this is not part of the picture she realises and then her eyes, slowly. Oh its you, the ever friendly alarm, one day I am going to beat you and get up before you call my name. She places one foot out of bed, it feels different, some how not supported, no matter, she places the other on the floor, then whoosh, a feeling of falling, exhilarting falling. She can see all around her just space, wonderful blue and purple space in different shades, the wind through her hair on her skin, her blue, purple, pink and lime green with hears on pj's are supporting her flying through the air, yes, flying. She is not fearful and realises how free she feels, how exhilarting this is, oh yes she thought that before so it must be true. Why is this happening, no matter. She relaxes and closes her eyes but if I am falling, well gliding now what if I hit the groud, she did not consider looking down, that would be kind of useful to know her destination but she cannot see it, no matter. She closes her eyes and instantly all her senses are heightened, the sounds are incredible, what sounds, well there must be something, the sensations on her skin, in her hair, the taste, there is one she is sure, um something like the taste of anything is possible there is a smell something like the smell of um something cooking, SOMETHING COOKING, no matter. She relaxes and continues to glide, opening her eyes she notices the ground below filled with colours that are so vibrant yet gentle they create a pattern that looks like where she will land will then lead her to a path, she can see at the end of a path is a huge thing, that looks shiney and holds water, whats this she wonders, no matter. She lands gracefully on her botton, if that can be graceful after her little feet and legs have touched down and I guess you could say jogged for a few seconds, before plopping down. Um she can smell something cooking. She walks towards the path and there is the big shiny thing that holds water which is being heated by logs and stuff. There is a cork in the side and she just knows that a cup that is sat there holds coffee and she promptly makes herself a coffee, she blinks and there she sits in her kitchen, breakfast. Now that was a trip, did she beat the clock. Wow that was amazing, what a way to get up, somthing is buzzing in the distance, is it the alarm? Surely I am awake aren't I? No matter.

Posted by: Liz Gow | 03/22/2010 at 09:56 AM

In the life of an artist there is no usual.

O yes,
Little habits, like dents, scratches on
Our autos, but many are the same;
Down in our cells where we live,
And within, we are frighteningly, miraculously
Individuals, a god droplet, exquisitely
Unique.

And isn’t every day likewise
Unique? Has there ever been before
This combo and conundrum of
Complexities, all tools ready for creating?
Isn’t Right Now a perfectly unique moment,
Where our nose can open to a supremely new whiff
Of possibility never before imagined?

Thank you, Monsieur Bonzo, I’m having a usual day
and it is completely and utterly as always
Unusual.

Posted by: Cheri Smith | 03/22/2010 at 10:23 AM

shower water turns to animal fur
it's cold like a cat's nose
will this really clean me?
or just leave me more to lint brush?
my dreams awake me
as the cat licks my feet

Posted by: jennifer | 03/22/2010 at 11:03 AM

Haiku in response to bird droppings toothpaste

I smoked rabbit tobacco
no one said it grew
Cool me smoked rabbit doodoo

Posted by: linda cofiell | 03/22/2010 at 12:32 PM

smoked is one syllable- i think.
I dont say smoke-ed
even when high off smoking rabbi do.

there wasnt much to do in the Alabama town where i grew up.

Posted by: linda cofiell | 03/22/2010 at 12:37 PM

Retelling of a story told me by plumber Jay who has many unusual pets and who is now working on the sink in my studio.
Petrie,the peach-faced parrot hitches a ride on the back of Lucie, his 20 something year old pot bellied pig. When a pig's back is scratched, the pig falls over in a semi faint. Kind of like a fainting goat. The bareback bird/pig ride ambles its way through the the house and into the great room where there is an audience of two: Jay and Lin his girlfriend. Petrie parrot scratches Lucie pig's back and the pig gently falls over. Petrie then partially flies, partialy jumps onto the now prone pig's side. Petrie then goes into a joyful dance where she begins fully opening and closing her wings, bobbing her head and body, and moving her little birdie feet all to a rhythm she and maybe the pig alone can hear. Look at her go! Up and down like a whirling dervish on Lucie's side and big belly, in a peak experience, entranced by her her glorious light and radiant energy!"Me" she seems to be saying, a mere bird and having this amazing power over Lucie with all her pig self."
And Lucie, now in a perfectly relaxed and blissful state, seems to be smiling at her part in giving her friend such an exalted spiritual experience.
Well done pig.

Posted by: linda cofiell | 03/22/2010 at 01:29 PM

Haiku:

I rolled over on
the dog that rascal got fur
between clean fresh sheets

(I was sitting at this all day meeting.... hard seat, boring meeting, way too long ... and as I always have my notebook at the ready I decided that I must save myself from the day. So I wrote the Haiku. That little Haiku made me feel much better.)

Posted by: Lynda Treger | 03/22/2010 at 07:27 PM

My Unusual Day

Today I kicked the hornets’ nest
Then danced them into fire
My dragon tattoo ran away
As prancing cops drained the lake
& put jello on the window

The swan thieves took my diamond shawl
While mists mapped love sans knickers
Since the parrot makes the house rules
We bribe him with Italian shoes
& Canadian pickles

Posted by: cynthia tedesco | 03/23/2010 at 12:35 PM

Excerpt from: Days With Suprises

I left the leg on the table. Right there. Just like that! I didn’t even think much about it, I was too distraught. Too overwhelmed by what I’d learned. Bolting from the chair, I swooped up my coat and grappled the door knob. Opening the old over-painted plank, I trampled out into dingy
40-watt light of that hallway. Shifting my coat on around me, I was off-- down the steps, and went face first into the frothy crystal night.

Posted by: Dale | 03/23/2010 at 07:11 PM

Usual
Needs
Unusual
Satisfying
Underlying
Alternative
Life!

Posted by: Mckayleh | 03/23/2010 at 11:10 PM

Waking up. Not exactly unusual. Something he had done every day until at last one day he didn’t. The funny thing was that the day he didn’t, he was quite sure he had. Even chuckling to himself as he performed the old test, pushing out his elbows to ensure he didn’t hit wood, and feeling that reassuring thunk. Making plans for the day as he savored those last few minutes before crawling from under the sleep-warmed covers. Nuzzling Old Katt as he popped open her Friskies. Squinting in the brightness of the morning sun, smiling as the cardinal hollered in the tree outside his kitchen window. Thinking, yessirree, it’s good to be alive. It wasn’t until he finally stepped out the door to meet his morning coffee buddies that he noticed it. His feet didn’t hit the earth. And as he walked his steps were more like flying. In fact, he was flying. Hot damn, he thought. This is going to be an interesting day!

Posted by: Kat | 03/24/2010 at 10:57 AM

How to Send Your Child off to School

1. Hit snooze button until reality of having to actually get up sinks in.
2. Pee
3. Wake child with a quick kiss and back rub.
4. Suddenly stress out because you have just 17 minutes to make breakfast, pack a lunch, and get child to school.
5. Click on Super Speed Time Saver, wonder why it didn’t work.
6. Swear under breath at significant other for not recharging.
7. Take back swear at memory of fully-charged battery pack you left in hovercraft after last night’s “How to replicate a Pot Roast” class.
8. Ask child to get out of bed while dashing out to hovercraft.
9. Pop in fresh battery pack; zip through breakfast and lunch prep.
10. Threaten child with loss of holograph time ‘til age 32 unless he gets out of damn bed.
11. Sense no movement from child.
12. Sigh audibly. Pop School-Fresh hood over child’s bed, press start.
13. Insert Instant Coffee Meal into iCal breakfast slot – set “ready time” for 3 minutes.
14. Answer “because it was ready ten minutes ago” to child’s query about food temp.
15. Ignore child’s remark about getting him up earlier for fear you might send child to Center Earth Rehab.
16. Note time.
17. Swear under breath at significant other for not reinserting TCP (Time-Crunch Portal) after last use.
18. Scan house with FindItAll Scanner. See TCP in purse. Take back swear… damnit.
19. Wrap toast in self-destruct paper towel, hand to child along with lunch.
20. Kiss top of head, smile, wish a good day, shove into TCP, press “School” button.
21. Make mental note to set alarm ten minutes earlier tomorrow.
22. Enjoy a full deep breath along with Instant Coffee Meal.
23. Repeat each school day.

Posted by: Beverly | 03/24/2010 at 12:22 PM

Me unusual?
I'm an ordinary girl
And I'm fine with that

Posted by: Maribeth Doerr | 03/24/2010 at 03:58 PM

I actually wrote this a while back just on my own but I love it and I think it fits this prompt perfectly so I'm posting this old one. :)

Every morning, routinely, I watch the frozen spider in your corner.

I wait for its fall, absence, and as it does not come, I learn to find comfort in its suspension.

We become companions, sharing space and a silence we fill with the dead language that has fallen to the back of our heads, dead from captivity.

I take his words like morning coffee-- black, with a quiet vileness, nourishment.

He sits with me in my nakedness, but I don't mind. He's dead.

And naked.

He knows my morning torment, my earliest greeting, the you that wakes in me and bounces around my skull until it softens, defeated, ready for the day.

He knows my useless attempt at cleansing the blood that is only mine.

And laughs the vacant laugh of a specter who has never met warmth.

I take his laughter in a fit of self-pity, peel my soul from my core and fling it at the walls, narrowly missing my bitter friend.

When the countless tiny tremblings of the days of his death coalesce to shake him from your corner, I will miss him.

Posted by: AnnieVirginia | 03/25/2010 at 04:03 AM

Haiku – 5 – 7 – 5
A new day begins
with the sweet sounds of children
smashing our dishes.

Tanka – 5 – 7 – 5 – 7 – 7
Another day ends
With the loud moans of children
Force-marched to their rooms.
There is no one happier
Than a mom with kids tucked in.

Cinquain – 2 – 4 – 6 – 8 – 2
Children
Are the sweetest
Blessings on this big earth.
In spite of endless whining, call me,
Mommy.

Posted by: Gina | 03/25/2010 at 08:55 AM

Samantha, the breakfast fairy, joined me this morning as I created my smoothy. She added her fairy dust, just a teeny little bit. Today she contributed: a bit of surprise, some enchantment, wonder, miracles, confidence, playfulness, inner power and time to dream. It’s going to be a beautiful and magical day!

Posted by: Samantha, The Breakfast Fairy | 03/25/2010 at 09:04 AM

Well, again, here I am - better late than never!

It was a most unusual trek on my treadmill the other day. I hit the start button and it began to move - out the bedroom door, down the stairs and out the front door. Most unusual, Lou said as I waved an astonished good-bye from the front walk.

Daffodils popped up out of the chilly spring soil and craned their papery heads to follow my progress up the driveway. Winnie and Helen and Cloud and Clyde peered from their doors to see me pass by. High up on an incline of 2, I looked down on my lookers-on and waved casually; the royal wave, not to be confused with the royal bird. I saved that for the cranky coot up the street who ran alongside me, gesticulating, shaking his fists, shouting and swearing. I responded with a royal smile and a royal bird from my high perch on incline 3 at 4 MPH and continued on my most unusual jog.

A treadmill parade float up Raynor Road, festooned with yesterday’s bra, today’s hair towel, a few books, IPod, and some leftover Christmas ribbon pulling plastic Easter eggs. Most unusual, I would agree.

Most peculiar, neighbors whispered from behind their envious hands as they greeted me and my rolling walkway.

Past Starlight up to Pepperidge I go. I navigate past the woods. The onion grass is up, the ground hog is foraging. The tree twigs are plump, plump, plump.

I make the circuit high aloft at a steady 4 MPH arms pumping and with an occasional Rocky salute to the sky. Gradually cooling down; a most satisfying ride. A most unusual afternoon!

Posted by: Kathy K | 03/25/2010 at 12:03 PM

The sun falls from my left eye
Finding its place upon the sky
My cat dances to Tchaikovsky
While the Pacu fish sings in harmony with the Green finch
I eat the sweetness of the air and grab my keys
I press pause on my dreams and let the day roll by

Posted by: Adriana Paredes | 03/25/2010 at 04:33 PM

I realize that what makes my life so unique and unusual is that it is typical, predictable and ordinary. Everywhere I go and everyone I meet appears to me to be so wacky doodle and atypical that it causes envy within my psyche. I’m jealous of their standout traits and behaviors…I love the bizarre ….I relish the oddity…I embrace life’s foible and all the quirky people in my realm.

Prompt #118 Due Sunday

Look around the room and pick an object. Write one paragraph describing the object in full detail and a second paragraph explaining where it came from (in reality or in fiction).

POST HERE

click

Prompt #117 Responses

Write a 20-line rhyming poem about something that really annoys you or write why this writing prompt annoys you.

~constantly connected
I see it all the time
connected oh so fine
twitters facebook phones
no time to be alone

constantly connected
don't quite have a clue
how that can be better
than really seeing you

constantly connected
electronic tethered, we
the more I look around
the less I want to be

constantly connected
with life so instantly
I would so much rather
have you want to be with me

don't have a facebook page
no clue on how to twit
the more constantly connected
the more I want to quit

Posted by: rick

(it doesn't rhyme ~ but i just learned what a sestina was and i wanted to give it a whirl)

Bats swoop low across the square as dusk settles on the village
Porch swings creak, murmurs of parents conversing while children are sleeping
Birds sing their good night songs as the last of the day fades into darkness
General Cats stretch and arch their backs from a long days rest as they come out to patrol
The day shifts from tasks of mundane and earthly endeavors
To mystical, magical, and clandestine

Back stairs creak as teen-age lovers sneak to keep their meetings clandestine
Old-Ladies peak behind lace curtains collecting fodder for the morning meet-up in the village
Thwarting all but the most ingenious endeavors
Long after curfew bells have rung, back steps creak, tiptoeing over dogs that are sleeping
General Cats come back with their prey after a successful nights patrol
The dawns first rays cut across the village green dispelling the darkness

Lovers settle into their beds as the last of the nights shadows linger in the darkness
Believing that they have kept their meetings clandestine
Old-Ladies put on their coffee pots as they prepare for the day time patrol
They come together to share the news of the village
They whisper, harp, and gossip of all that went on while the others lay sleeping
They shred the hopes for secrecy of others in their endeavors

But don’t be too quick to judge them for there is no malice in their endeavors
They cannot sleep in the darkness
They walk through the memories of youth as the village lay sleeping
Remembering kisses stolen and hearts rendered in youthful meetings of clandestine
nature, The youth believe that the old-ladies forget and are the meddlers of the village
But in truth it is their own memories that they patrol

They watch and remember as they peak from behind lace curtains while on patrol
Their aching legs deny their yearning to go on their own secret endeavors
They have long stopped caring what other ladies say in the village
If only they too could slip into the darkness
A kiss, an embrace to sustain them until their next clandestine
meeting, Only the babies and the parents are sleeping

Exhausted from growing and chasing after the day they welcome the peace of sleeping
They rely on the old ladies and the General Cats to keep patrol
They remember wanting to keep their youthful romances clandestine
And are thankful now that someone is watching over their teen-agers endeavors
As they hear the back steps creak in the darkness
As the ladies peak from behind their lace curtains around the village

Memories of long ago clandestine kisses while parents were home sleeping
As the lace curtains in the village rustled as the old ladies kept patrol
Thwarting all but the most ingenious endeavors to keep secrets in the darkness

Posted by: Carmen Taggart

No Longer
Tolerable
To My Ears
The Stories
You Tell Yourself
Find Another
Audience

Posted by: Mckayleh

Why?
Lie?
Telling the truth
Should be as easy as pie!

It’s stupid stuff you deceive ‘bout
Again
I caught you
In your truth telling drought

How many lies have you told in three year?
An astronomical amount (though I’ve long since lost count)
But I believe it’s enough
To call it your career.

I should have said adios
Much much long ago
But got sucked in by familiarity
And not wanting to change Kyle’s flow

One final lie you got to tell
Thank goodness it's over
I’m done with you
Can you tell?

Posted by: Gayle

Mckayleh

Yours goes with mine.. I like it :-)

Gayle

Posted by: Gayle

You know I suck at Rhymes
How many times
Must I try to please
Will you stop if I pay you some fees?

My writing is etermally bad
the words are never rad
anxiety runs high
yet I must try.

Are my 20 lines done yet
I feel all wet
My life is not a poet
don't you know it??

12 lines down, 8 to go
It's never going to make me any dough
My pride is definitely hurt
But this promopt I cannot skirt.

I am at the end at last
It surely has not been a blast
I'll wait for the next one
And hope it'll be more fun!!

Posted by: Jane

just manage
You do have the power
to say yea or no
you get to decide
if we stay or we go
you know we don't like you
but who gives a damn
money is good
when you still da man
everyone works hard
but not cause of you
believe it or not
we have pride unlike you
your lofty opinions
never been wrong
at least in your mind
you lead you along
down some career path
gold watch and a plaque
climbed up the ladder
and never looked back
to see who you stepped on
to see where they are
it was all about you
and that company car

Posted by: rick

furniture shops ought to provide
marriage counsellors on the side
buying a sofa together might take awhile
but you’d come away with more than style
i had in mind something sleek
he had in mind a recliner, so to speak
i want to browse a few more stores
he wants to grab the first thing, then out the door
oh help me stop the single-life fantasies galore
No Committee Decisions is a Very Tempting Store
a place where I’d never for one second think
about sofas with built-in holders for your drink
where unfulfilled bachelor pad ideals
don’t run rampant with little boy mid-life zeal
let me remember this is supposed to be fun
let me be gentle and try not to run
i’ve waited so long to redecorate
keep the faith, you’ll find something really great
breathing new living room into this dear dream
so furniture shopping won’t make me wanna scream!

Posted by: Paula Farrington

I awaken. I’m hot.
Rested? Most certainly not!
I open my eyes to absolute night.
The window it shows not a peep of sunlight.
The clock face reveals an ungodly display.
It’s way waaay too early to get up now to play.
My head! How it throbs!
Oh sweet dreams! I am robbed!
My shoulders! They ache and whine out their pain.
My neck adds its piece. Yes, I’m going insane.
My sinuses throb, my head it explodes.
I think to myself: oh, a baaad day this bodes!
I try to relax, to breathe in so deep
But all my intentions collapse in a heap.
I twist and I turn, I try right and now left,
But nothing is working and of sleep I’m bereft.
The heater comes on, I’m drippy with sweat.
I know in my heart this night’s fate has been met.
My hot blanket I toss right down to my waist.
Oh, my love, my sweet sleep, of your charms I would taste!

Posted by: Skye

I don’t feel like rhyming today!
Damn that five thousand, what the hey!
What matters most to me, in all ways
Is the existence of love in my life…..it must stay
My dog got so sick, in a flash he’d be gone
If it weren’t for forty staples covering a kidney gone wrong.
And the good doctor, a young, deserving soul
His handiwork admired, said it was much more than a mole

I simply couldn’t lose him.
He’s not just a whim.

He’s my friend, everyday showing me so
How effortless is love, how easy to bestow
Forgiving in a flash of lesser moments I’ve had
He is my hero in many ways, would be so sad
To lose a good friend, companion, a pal
No I couldn’t do that….ring up the sale!
Five thousand thank-yous, a greenback for each
I gladly pay for….got a buck?, I beseech.
So damn, don’t tell me to rhyme today
I’ve got bitchin’ to do, no not me….no way.

Posted by: Maida BP

Mad I am at things
Even stuff that blings
Kids that shout and scream
I want, want ice cream
Bitter twisted groaning nannies
Eating picnic sandwiches wearing jammies
Hysterical laughing when scared
Why ride a roller coaster – weird
Bring me this, bring me that
Again, she’s off in a spat
Sorry, sorry, sorry
Don’t be sorry don’t it no more
Off she goes in a roar
Not doing when said you would
Now that’s crappy as it should
Sitting in wet cold gear
After kayaking near the pier
Mad I am at things
Not really, part of life it all sings

Posted by: Liz Gow

A twenty line rhyming poem
Isn’t really my cup of tea.

Maybe I need a full jeroboam,
Would wine inspire me?

Talk about annoying things,
Hope some men are listening.

Do they think they’re kings?
No, my cheeks aren’t glistening.

It really makes me mad you see
When I’m having a bad day

And a man dares to ask me
On your period, or PMS, eh?

A man can be a total grouch,
Spend an entire day sulking

Refuse to leave the couch
Leave monstrous energy hulking.

Do they really not know
That we too have those times

Those moods, grouch overflow.
This isn’t about periods, or PMS, or rhymes.

Unless you have experienced periods and PMS
Do not ever speak of them. Yes?

Posted by: Anji Hatfield

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss
Oh you really keep me loose
Just like a silly goose!
Things One and Two on the loose
Imagining things like a Tamoose-
You’ve never see a Tamoose? Oh Bruce!
Fountains of grape juice
Showering down on Colorado spruce
Take a bath in orange juice
Then write a poem that’s abstruse.
Spike your hair with lots of mousse
Just beware of the blue-goose recluse!
Mother Goose and Dr. Seuss are serving juice
And lots of chocolate mousse.
Say what? You hope this rhyme won’t get loose?
A little silliness it may induce
Take a ride in a caboose
Sitting on frozen orange juice.
Recycle, reduce, reuse!
Makes no sense but what fun to cut loose!
Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss!

Posted by: Anji Hatfield

Hope calls to me.
I enthrall to see
potential release,
eyeballing peace
somewhere in this situation,
to feel obligation
lift from my shoulders
massive boulders, those
‘I told you so’ holders
give way, to the art of
allowing.
Now follow trajectories
charted
when more open hearted,
not afraid
just delayed; creation
finds the tips of my fingers,
appreciation
bear hugs vibration.
Hope lingers.

Posted by: Linda

Susan Clare.... that's lovely!

Posted by: Anji Hatfield

Eggshells in the carton?
Yet again!
What happened to your vow
Not to leave remnants of a hen?

Why do you care so much?
You say
You can throw them out
On another day.

I care because
I do
They carry disease
Possibly chicken poo too

It's a pet peeve of mine
You'll have to accept
And if you love me
It will get utmost respect

Just get over it
Throw those shells out
You'll be better for it
That's what love's all about!

Posted by: Gayle

What annoys me: Poetry that rhymes
But I went to a Renaissance Festival last weekend, so this kinda came up for me:)

The Gypsy

She sat behind her table draped in gypsy red
Under the canopy of fingers of oak.
"Let me see what the future holds for you," she said.
Her glare bore through me as she spoke.
I sat down across from her, sweat beading my brow
As, with her withered claw, she grasped my hand.
"I don't believe" I heard my cracked voice avow.
Yet logic would not lend its command.
Her nail, dirty, cracked, scratched at my skin,
Traced a crooked line across my palm.
She growled softly, a knowing tremble within
And spoke cunningly, low and calm
"This cannot be." Her head shook in doubtful repose.
Dropped my hand like it was made of fire.
"You thought you would trick me I must suppose.
You must think I am quite the liar."
"I don't know what you're talking about.
I have never met you." I said.
"You're very shrewd" she cackled with doubt.
"Either that, or you are quite dead."

Posted by: candice

i used to write
rhyming verse
but it never got better
only worse

some truths may meter
most lies will scan
but reality
don’t give a damn

turns out my thoughts
burned their bras
during toked out sixties’
last hurrahs

so now i look
to simpler fare
no need to rhyme
but it better square

with what is true
and what is real
cuz this trip through time
is the friggin’ deal

Posted by: -kat

Using Everyday Objects

When writing block strikes, try using the everyday objects around you to free up ideas and have them flowing again.

The Muse is IN • 3142 1st Ave • San Diego, CA 92103

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