From Soup to Nuts

#1 The List

Let’s see… I’ll take:

-3 cans of Courage

-2 cans of Confidence

-4 cans of Not a Nerd

-1 can of Whoop-ass

#2 Shopping at the Specialty Store

Imagine going to the store and

finding a can of 

Extra Time

on the top shelf.
I’d take the family size

Or maybe I’d pick up

a case of

Autumn Mornings,

extra crisp variety

And of course I’d grab me

a big ole’ can of 

True Love

(in heavy syrup)

But just my luck 

I get home,

unpack my purchases,   

and find the can opener  

broken

#3 Schmitz Market

Schmitz Market

at the corner of Washington and 12^th

always smelled

like hard salami and jump rope

Walking into its coolness

on a hot summer day

was as good as licking the dust

off a stick of Doublemint gum

Mr. Schmitz had dancing eyes

 and a smile that showed his delight

with his lot

beneath the bloody apron

 behind the meat counter

in his little shop

At the cash register

Mrs. Schmitz,

round and smiling,

always threw  a Saf-T-Pop

into the grocery bag

(she remembered my favorite flavor was green)

The last time I left the shop

the sound of bell,

ringing as it hit the glass door,

was cheerful as ever

But the clinking of wine glasses

in the chic, upscale wine bar it is now

just sounds wistful

These are for The Mag and dVerse open link night, both great places to check out if you are a writer or reader.  (Photo prompt is from Tess Kincaid at The Mag).

Photo credit: Bob Adelman, 1965

Blood Work

   Doctor Charles Drew

   swam against the current

   when he first banked blood

   The Red Cross

   was at cross purposes

   with the  business of

   saving lives

   They forgot

   (or pretended not to know)

   that blood cells

   are red and white,

   not black and white

   The job at hand is to transfuse

   blood not bigotry

Dr. Charles R. Drew was an African-American doctor who developed methods for blood storage and transfusions in the 1930's.  He was an outstanding person in many areas, and well worth reading more about.  One place to start is The Black Inventor Museum.  And these 55 words about him are for G-Man.

Psychedelic Superman

    It’s been a long day on the

    road to evolution

    The bad guys don’t take bank holidays

    and phone booths are  scarce

    Superman is tired;

    he no longer knows how to save us

    In a world of titanium and silicon

    even speeding bullets get left behind

    What’s your kryptonite?

Image by epic mahogany

This writing prompt is provided by Tess Kincaid.  Go to The Mag to read the gang's responses.

I thought of Kryptonite by Three Doors Down; click on it if you you'd like to listen.

Cabin Fever

February in Wisconsin

gets old.

This is time for tropical vacations,

this is why we are the fifth drunkest state

in the US.

Outside it’s snowing fluriously;

not the fresh, hopeful snow of December,

not the ‘each-flake-a-unique-miracle’ snow,

or even the big flakes children cut with

blunt-nosed scissors

to decorate classrooms…

just more damn snow

This is for G-man's Flash Friday 55.  Go check it out.  And, just for the record, this has been a very mild winter in Wisconsin, not much snow at all.  In fact yesterday it was about 45 degrees F (which is just not right).  It's just that 'cabin fever' time of year.

Image from stillwatertheatre.org

Home

So, when Poets United gave us the writing prompt ‘home’ for their Thursday Think Tank two different thoughts came to mind.  One was from my sappy, romantic heart, which is this:

My home is

the size

of your heart

The other response comes from my bleeding heart:

Some food for thought:

1. There are approximately 6.1 Million vacant houses In America

2. Approximately 3.5 million people are likely to experience homelessness in a given year

(Now the thinking part)

3. So, what’s wrong here?

(Vacant house statistics from blog.wsj.com 11/5/11, Homelessness statistics from National Law Center on Homelessness and Poverty)

*Please follow the link at the top to Poets United to find the responses of other poets.

Cold Shoulder Trio

1.     

          autumn mist softens

    the bleak forest cathedral:

    visual incense

2.        such beauty in death

    golden, crimson, and umber

    descend as fall leaves

3.      intricate, lacy

   artwork for my window pane

   thank you Mr. Frost

I'm not a haiku master, but I have girded my er..self, and these are my attempt for Grace at IGRT

Images by wallpaperswide.com, thelonggoodbye.wordpress.com, weathersavy.com

Valentine Offerings

     Will

     you be

     my true knight,

     bright though rusted;

     brave as a tiger,

     one I’ve always trusted

     to save me from my nightmares

     with your own prancing, dancing tongue?

     Hold me tight and kiss away my cares.

     Will you be my true knight, bright though rusted?

     Image from marxist.com


There's a nice, romantic-ish poem for Valentine's Day for all you old school romantics out there.  The  form is a Dectina Refrain created by Marion Friedenthal, with each line containing the following number of syllables: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 and the refrain repeats lines 1-4.  Go to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads to see other love poem that don't use the word 'love' in them.  This next one doesn't fit the bill, but it's just for fun.  Those of you with a slightly more twisted and humorous view of the day, this one is for you:

     My Love

     My love is like a red, red truck,
     All he wants to do is...


          drive around


     C'mon, what did ya think I was gonna say? 


       Image by magnoliamerryweather.tumblr.com   

Top 10 and Tangle

Top 10 Juvenile Comments I Feel Compelled to Inflict on You:

     1.  I had the strangest dream…

     2.   It’s raining men, and I slipped and fell in a big puddle

     3.  What happens when you REALLY have nothing to wear

     4.  This would be way more fun if I could still feel my legs

     5.  Who farted?

     6.  Aren't you glad you use Dial?  Don’t you wish everybody did?

     7.  Sw-e-e-e-e-t dreams

     8.  Yes, I AM the center of it all

     9.  Where’s Waldo? 

     10. Careful, don’t mess up my hair!


      Just in case you wanted to hear the song click here: It's Raining Men!

Sorry, I just had to get that out of my system.  Which is your favorite?  Do you have one of your own?  :o)

And now for something completely different:

 Tangle

There is more

than sex and death,

black and white

There is

the smooth, firm curve of grey,

with infinite points along 

the cusp

This is where we live -
in the tangle,

amid agony that may

(at any moment)

reveal 
bliss

The image and more responses to it can be found at The Mag.  This is also linked to Poets United.

Danger: Thin Ice

Danger: Thin Ice

watch your step

too much weight, pressure

may crack the surface

From that central point,

hairline fractures

jaggeding their way out

weaken the cold, slippery crust

It’s dangerous

 breaking through,

plunging into the dark, swirling

so-cold-they-steal-your-breath waters

 beneath

You could be swept away

never finding your way back to the

safer surface

Image by old.ho99.com 

These 55 words are for G-man.  You should click here to see lots more offerings!

Emma

Emma sits

beside her dish,

hoping

I will forget

that meal time is at 7:00.

Hoping, at 6:17

But I do not forget

I relent

This is a rerun, but appropriate for today.  I woke up early, and Emma was quite sure that breakfast should also be served early.  

Safety in Numbers

Sunday morning I balance my check book;

the orderliness  of rows and columns is comforting.

I write in pencil, so errors can be erased,

though I rarely make a mistake.

I print the numbers deliberately,

 forming each line and curve with care.

I double-check the math, and when I am finished

 the bank and I agree: everything balances.

I print ‘BALANCED!” with precision

across the front of the statement in ink,

because once reconciled, it never changes.

Then I file the statement in the hanging file labeled

‘Bank Statements-Checking’ in the

third drawer of the file cabinet in my home office.

And everything is just so.

Next I do Sudoku puzzles.

The nine, neat boxes stacked in order wait for me;

there is logic, process, method used to solve the problem.

It is a comfort to find where each number belongs.

There are rules to follow as I systematically fill in the grid.

Numbers are safe (thus the expression).

They don’t lie, or cheat, or grow bored and fall out of love.

One day I will move on to the Sunday Crossword Puzzle,

but not yet. 

I am not yet ready to deal in the treachery of words.

Image by bits-apogee.org

This can be found at Poets United in their Poetry Pantry.  Go there to see lots of others' offerings, or post a poem of your own.  

Grave Matter

   Here is the sorcerer’s stone

   offered up for you;

   transmute base urges into

   pure wisdom,

   or let it slip through your fingers

   like faded flower petals

In response to a picture of Aleksandr Bakulev's gave at Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow  provided by Tess at The Mag.

Handle with Care

   I

   gave

   you my

   heart, freely,

   little knowing what

   you desired was a trophy

This is a Fibonacci poem (or Fib) is a multiple-line verse based on the Fibonacci sequence so that the number of syllables in each line equals the total number of syllables in the preceding two lines.  Technically, the first line in a Fibonacci poem with n = 0 has no syllables, and therefore constitutes a moment of silence.  So the syllables per line is as follows: 0/1/1/2/3/5/8/13/21/34/55 etc.  Mine is 6 lines long, 7 if you count the 0 syllable moment of silence at the beginning.  The image is from The Mag.

Image: the grave of Aleksandr Bakulev at the Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow

Yes

The aim is to balance the terror of being alive with the wonder of being alive.   -Carlos Castaneda

Where do I set the fulcrum

to balance

fear and curiosity

too far one way

makes a homebound,

crazy cat lady

paralysis creeping slowly

from extremities to heart

subsisting on

bland, over-filtered sustenance

through electronic i.v.

but too far the other way

 leaves one skewered

on sharp spikes of sarcasm

or burning in fires of

 requited or unreturned love

or lost in the dark labyrinth

of an unknown city

following one way roads

to a dead end

There is no middle ground;

if I close my eyes

and step off the cliff

what revelation will come

on the way down?

Image by Emma Clark at at clarkazcreativedesign.wordpress.com


This is in response to Poets United Thursday Think Tank provided by Ella Wilson.  Click on the link to read the link to read the prompt and lots of other responses.

This Isn't Really a Poem

But I’m so excited I had to tell you

The TARDIS landed in my living room

today at 3:38 PM

It really is bigger on the inside!

I’m so happy –happy –happy

I’m doing the time travel jig!

Now I just need to decide

WHEN

to go to first!

WOOHOO!


55 really, really happy words for G-man at Friday Flash 55

Now Playing

         Where will it take you?

That is my first response to the wonderful picture with the movie prompt at the IGRT posted by Ella.  Just imagine - a ticket to admit one.  If you could use it to go anywhere...anywhen...where, when and to what will you choose to go?  

Then, after thinking about it, I came up with a much more depressing response:

I only

go to tear-jerkers

so after

credits roll

and house lights come on

my obvious weeping is

unremarkable

This is a Shadorma + a poetry form which contains the following number of syllable per line: 3/5/3/3/7/5 (standard) + and extra 3 syllable line, just ...because :o)

Image by Nelson Marques