A tale of…
assisting whitewashed comrades
curse those birds!
Agenzada demo font by Soufiane Abid
found at http://www.1001fonts.com
The following poem is my response to Crispina’s Creative Challenge #27. The poem is based on a too-true experience. 😉 I do hope you will pardon me, Crispina, for adding this unsavory detail to your lovely photo.
The Fly on My Nose
My eyes on the far distant green,
and the purest white blossoms between,
toward the bright scene I incline
admiring the tones opaline.
Closer goes my nose to that pane
my eyes sweeping over terrain…
When some blip urges me to glance down
to a dot by my nose — and I frown.
Ick! Almost my nose touched that fly
that fuzzy black dot, ’til my eye
could focus and signal my brain
to jerk swiftly back on the rein.
Oh, gross! To think I almost mashed
my nose against that bit of trash.
But how many times can it be said—
our focus on far field is spread,
not seeing the end of our nose—
we often bring on ourselves woes?
show off their new spins on
the one that got away
Since this is National Poetry Month, I dared to hop over to Judy D-B’s blog and issue her a challenge — based on her own suggestion, mind you — to write a poem using at least three of the following words:
chlorophyll, fettuccine, rosemary, poison ivy, parakeet, and Greenland.
I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist — and she hasn’t. You can read her verse here: Green Cuisine. Now I invite any other readers to wander the green woods with us and write a poem using at least three of those words. You can give the title and leave a link to your poem in the comments below.
Once I had these words in front of my eyes, my own thoughts started to whirl in a kaleidoscope of green chips and I composed a poem as well. Unlike Judy, I didn’t succeed in using all the words.
One day a poison ivy patch
attracted little sister;
before too long she started to scratch
and itch turned into blister.
Our mom was crushing rosemary
planning a meatloaf lunch
with fettuccine on the side,
when in trooped our sad bunch.
Mom boiled up some chamomile
to make a soothing potion,
sent brother to Greenland’s drug store
for a jug of calamine lotion.
And all the while my sister wailed
our parakeet kept repeating,
Our grandma’s, “Count your blessings now.
The joys of life are fleeting.”
Good morning everyone. Cloudy, drippy day here in south-central Sask. Not rain, but the heavy mist that rolled in during the night has made everything damp. I think everyone’s wishing for a day of good steady rain, especially the farmers.
The seniors in our church decided to have a potluck supper yesterday evening and we were among the number enjoying the delicious meal. We were about 25 in all and every lady brought one large dish, so no lack of food.
Some ladies were asking me what I plan to do today to celebrate my 66th birthday. I have a specific goal — my birthday present to me: I want to work on Seasons of Gold until it’s done and ready to be published Saturday. My son-in-law has uploaded an improved cover image to KDP, so now I need to add the manuscript, then can view it all. Then let it sit a few days; there’s always some last minute, “Oh, I’d better add /change …”
Actually the whole file is put together except for maybe a few more images, and to go through and check the spacing of the lines. I don’t know what prompts Kindle Create to do what it does, but it tends to toss extra spacing in here and there. Not a whole extra line, which would be obvious, but .19 of an extra line. Enough that if you look close you can see this poem is a bit farther apart from its follower than the follower is from its follower. If you follow me. 😉
Re: images. I really like the little hand-drawn illustrations in some of my haiku books. Birds, cherry trees, all very old-Japan looking. You know the type:
However, I have often used images from Pixabay to illustrate my poems and want to use the same type for my e-book. I’m doing about one small image and three or four poems per page.
Having a sense of humor, I’d like to stick this one in, along with Bobby Burns famous words. I don’t know if I dare be this silly in a book of Japanese-style poetry, but a wry look at human nature is what senryu is all about. In fact, I suspect this picture would have given Issa a chuckle.
The Ragtag daily prompt came through at 9:30 pm last night, giving me lots of time to think about a response to the prompt word THIEF. As I consider all these years that have slipped by and wondered, as so many others, “where the time has gone,” I thought of this verse, written by Scottish poet Harvey Scott:
I saw the old thief, Father Time,
Come hirpling down the road;
He had a sack upon his back,
Lost minutes were his load.
He opened it and showed to me
Not minutes, but a host
Of years, decades, a century
And more of minutes lost.
“I want to buy year,” I said,
“And I shall pay you well.”
“If this earth’s mould were finest gold,
To you I would not sell,
For I have minutes stolen from kings,
From Milton, Shakespeare, Bach.
How could you buy such precious things?
Your common gold is trash!”…
He tied his sack and said, “Farewell.
Young man, I’ve got my fee,”
For while I tried to make him sell,
He stole an hour from me!