Poetry Monday: New Year's Resolutions

It's Poetry Monday, and it's two days away from 2020, and the topic this week -- unsurprisingly -- is NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS .....

Join Diane, MotherOwl. Mimi, Merry Mae and me as we lay our souls bare (or not?) and expound on this topic. You can leave your poem in the comments here, or post on your own blog; if you do the latter, please let us know in a comment so we can chase you down and steal your holiday chocolate find your poem and applaud! Use the topic, or choose another; the objective is just to have fun and wear off the holiday chocolate tone up our brain cells.

(If I seem chocolate-obsessed, it's because I had to give up chocolate about six months ago due to the caffeine in it -- caffeine of any kind plays havoc with my innards. Going without didn't bother me at all for the first five months, but it's been harder during the holiday season, when chocolate seems to be everywhere and I can SMELL it -- at the office and in all the stores that carry a lot of it for the holidays. Wahh!)

Anyway, on to the chocolate truffles poetry.

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. . . Not That I Couldn't Improve, Mind You

As a child I wrote most earnestly
My yearly resolutions
They lasted three whole days, then died
From lack of execution

I'm really not much better now
I have such good intentions
But as the new year marches in
They die from inattention 

New Year's Resolutions are
So hard for PD Jenny
The thing about resolve, you see
Is that I haven't any

Option B is the kind of thing I could be successful doing

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Have you made any resolutions this year?

Happy New Year, friends!

Next week's poetry topic will be .... SOMETHING THAT GOES FAST .....

 

Good luck!

Poetry Monday: This Time of Year . . . And Funnies

It's Poetry Monday -- just two days before Christmas 2019 -- and the topic is ..... THIS TIME OF YEAR ....

Join Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi, Merry Mae and me as we take on this timely topic. You can leave your poem here in the comments, or you can post on your own blog; if the latter, please leave a comment so we can find you and your poem. Use the topic, or not; the idea is to have fun and pummel our brains into mush exercise our brain cells.

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At the Donkey household, we celebrate Christmas with all its accompanying pressures and joys. We exchange gifts with a circle of close relatives, we are the cooks for the family Christmas dinner, and we put up a Christmas tree ....... so that means shopping, cooking, cleaning and decorating.

It is lovely.

And it can get hairy. (No pun intended, although -- as you will see in a moment -- the pun would not go astray ...)

Every year I have the same mental picture of how Christmas will be.

I will make five kinds of cookies and two kinds of pies, I will mail my cards before the deadline, I will find novel and elegant but practical gifts for everyone, I will handcraft new tree ornaments, I will have a sparkling-clean and handsomely decorated home, and I will serve Christmas dinner in a festive yet classy outfit.

In reality, I consider myself lucky if I am not in a store somewhere at closing time on Christmas Eve, if I have remembered to buy pies never mind making them, if I get any cards sent before New Year's Day, if the cats allow the tree to remain upright, if there is no cat hair on the tablecloth, and if I have time to change out of my work T-shirt before company arrives for Christmas dinner.

Can I work this into a nifty Poetry Monday offering?

Hah!! You betcha :)



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It's Not As If The Date Changes Every Year, Is It??

The season is upon us and I visualize that everything will be perfection
Gifts will be wrapped and ready by October and I will personally bake every confection
The cats will magically stop shedding two weeks before company comes for dinner
And I will clean from attic to basement so thoroughly I will end up ten pounds thinner
I will do so much ahead of time that on the special day I will not break a sweat
The Christmas tree will be a vision of loveliness, and so will I! ...... and yet .....

The day will be upon us and nothing about it will even approach the edge of perfection
Gifts will only just be wrapped before they are unwrapped and I'll have bought every confection
The cats will shed ten pounds of fur in the two minutes before company comes for dinner
And I'll be stress-eating and as you know that's no way to get thinner
I will be running like a mad thing around the kitchen as I break into a sweat
And the Christmas tree will wear the same ornaments we have used for forty years ..... and yet .....

Somehow, it all gets done
Somehow, we all have fun
Somehow, we're all well fed
Somehow, I've not dropped dead
Somehow, the gifts are fine
And the memories?
Oh, the memories are sublime 💟   

For non-cat-lovers, this is the rear view of a cat

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I really think we need a few more Christmas funnies.

I cannot lie; this is my favourite today

What do you know, it's another rear view of a cat!

 

Cat owners all know what "harked" means . . .

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Whatever "this time of year" means for you, I hope it is full of hope and peace, good things to eat, and time with those you hold dear.

Next week's topic will be ... NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS ...

Good luck!

Poetry Monday: Time

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is . . . . TIME.

Join Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi, Merry Mae, and me as we pass the time writing about time.

You can leave your poem in the comments here or post on your own blog; if you do the latter, please leave a comment here as well so we know where to find you.

Use the topic, or choose another -- the idea is to enjoy the process and work our brains.

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Ironically, time was not on my side this week and I am typing this very late on Sunday evening for midnight posting.

So let me just give you a video of Steve Miller's song about time, Fly Like An Eagle, which has been going through my head all week whenever I thought about what I should write:

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And now that you've gotten that good and solidly into your head as an earworm, I present my poem, which cannot compare with those lyrics at all, at all, at all:

Time  -- Donkey Version 

Time is like a rubber band:

At times it shrinks; at times, expands.

When in a dentist's chair I sit,

Time drags slowly, bit by bit.

When on vacation, though -- time flies,

Especially under sunny skies.

Waiting makes time elongate,

But time is short when I am late.

Why does it stretch when I am sad?

And then condense when I am glad?

It's odd that time -- though so reliable --

Can also be so bleepin' pliable . . .

This could be my theme song, kitteh . . .

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Until next week, please have yourself a good time :)

Next Poetry Monday's topic will be . . . . THIS TIME OF YEAR . . .

Thanks, Diane, and good luck everybody!

Poetry Monday: Phones

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is ....... PHONES .....

What do we all want to say about phones? And by "we" I mean Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi, Merry Mae, me . . . . . and YOU, my people! Everybody should have something to say about phones, I think :)

If you'd like to leave a poem in the comments, go right ahead. Or you can post on your own blog, and leave us a comment so we can find you. Use the topic, or choose another. It doesn't matter; it's all good. We're here to have fun and get our brains humming.

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Shortly after I started my blog in 2016, I wrote about how I had acquired an aversion to the rumble of a diesel engine because it reminded me of all the ambulance trips my father took in the final years of his life. The stress I experienced with each trip stayed with me after my father's death, even though there was no longer a reason to have that reaction.

As that sound has come to bother me less with the passing of time, a new sound has taken its place: the ring of the telephone.

I've written recently about how my mom is suffering cognitive decline. She is not a spring chicken anymore; she will turn 90 in January. Physically, she is still healthy, but she gets anxious about her health easily. Numerous times I've taken her to the emergency room for a lengthy visit due to pains that she finds strange and scary, and that I can't reasonably explain away. Usually she is given a clean bill of health and sent home.

Those trips always start with a panicked phone call from her, telling me anything from "I have a pain" to "I don't feel right". The calls usually come in the evening, often after bedtime. One came at 3 a.m. One came late at night in the middle of a blinding snowstorm.

Last week's call at midnight was especially frightening. My mother said (and I could clearly hear) that she was having trouble breathing. It turned out Mom had a panic attack on top of a minor medical issue. She is fine now, and barely remembers it.

Most of the time now I can recognize how much of the issue is the actual pain and how much is the anxiety of being old and alone with the pain, and I can talk to her until her anxiety dissipates and I've gotten a clue as to what has caused the original discomfort.

But the stress of hearing that @#$% phone ringing at an hour when no one should be calling . . . well, it does my head in. I never know what is in store.

I find myself wanting to pick up the phone and hurl it into a concrete wall. Or take a big hammer to it.

It's not the phone's fault. It's not my mother's fault. It's nobody's fault. But dang it, I hate hearing that phone ring. I realize hate is a strong word. But it doesn't seem too strong for me to use here.

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Alexander Graham Bell Probably Didn't Foresee This 

The shrill of the phone
The thud of my heart
The twist of my stomach
The rush of adrenaline
The flood of fear
The swirl of thoughts
What must be done?
How fast can I get there?
How serious is this new symptom?
How long until I am home again?
How much sleep will I lose?
How many more times can I do this?

I am thankful for easy communication
And I wish it had never been invented

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See how much fun writing poetry can be?!

Sorry for the downer this week. It does feel better to have written about this, though - the healing power of setting it down in black and white is a real thing.

Here are some funnies to help us all see the other side of stress:

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How about you -- does your phone stress you out or is it the Best Invention Ever?

Wishing you all a fine and dandy week :)

Next week's topic for Poetry Monday is ........TIME ....

Good luck! 

Poetry Monday: Humming

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is ........ HUMMING .....

Join us if you like! "Us" usually being Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi, Merry Mae and me . . . . .

Leave your masterpiece (or your two-liner, if you prefer) in the comments here, or post on your own blog and leave us a comment so we can come along and cheer you on. Use the topic, or choose another; the objective is to have fun and give our brains a workout :)

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I am a hummer.

Not one of those tiny marvels of birdy nature who can hover and drink at the same time -- although I actually CAN do that, just without the wings or the marvel.

No, I'm one of those people who hums under my breath a good deal of the time. Often, I don't even realize I'm humming unless somebody comments on it.

In an office setting, I realize this is even more annoying than microwaving popcorn or seafood (numbers one and two on my list of annoying things other people do at the office), and I try to be aware and avoid doing it so I don't drive folks off their hinges.

But when I'm alone, whether at home or in the car, I can hum to my heart's content. I hum when I'm happy, I hum when I'm stressed. It's strangely soothing to me to hum when I'm stressed.

Usually I hum a song I've heard on the radio when I'm waking up. It stays in my head until the next day when I hear another song. Sometimes I find myself humming a tune that has come out of nowhere and eventually vanishes to the same place after I have hummed all the good out of it.

My never-ending talent extends to singing badly and whistling, too. But those are both intentional acts that require concentration. Humming is just . . . there.

All. The. Time.

To some folks' dismay.

Are you a hummer? A singer? A whistler? Do tell in the comments! You can just add that info along with the poem you're leaving, okay? 😊

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Would You Rather I Talk To Myself? I Can Do That . . .

There was an old gal liked to hum
Made no difference if happy or glum
Some of those round her said
"She'll still hum when she's dead!"
And to those folks her nose she did thumb  😜


Disclaimer: I wouldn't actually thumb my nose at anybody; I just needed a rhyme for hum and glum :)

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And since I couldn't find a fully-appropriate picture to illustrate my poem, you'll have to make do with this semi-appropriate picture instead:

Well, I declare, you're coming in clearly at last!

And for good measure:

My next hobby!

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Hope you have a week that makes you want to burst out in song, or, at the very least, finds you enjoying music, whether it's self-made or  nature-made or any other kind :)

Next week's topic for Poetry Monday will be ..... PHONES ...

Good luck!