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

*****

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? 😊

*****

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!

Poetry Monday: Windows

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

Join Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi, Merry Mae, and me, as we put a shine on this topic. You can leave your poem in the comments, or post on your own blog. If you do the latter, please leave a comment so we can find you and your poem. Use the topic, or choose another; the objective is to have fun and work our brains :)

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Can you believe I struggled for days to produce four lines of "kinda" poetry about windows? I had ideas, but, people, nothing worked until I followed the line of thinking that had been in the back of my mind but which I had been trying to avoid the whole time . . .


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I Don't (Often) Do Windows

Invisible when they're freshly washed;
Less so, with some screening.
Windows let us see the world, but --
I wish they didn't need cleaning

This picture cracks me up every time. Those expressions!!

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I hope you have a better relationship with your windows than I do, and -- at least this week -- you don't have to wash any :)

Next week's topic will be ........... HUMMING .......

Good luck!

Poetry Monday: Neighbours

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is .....NEIGHBO(U)RS.

Join Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi, Merry Mae and me as we give a tip of o(u)r hats -- or not -- to those folks who share our lives by occupying a space close by us -- at work, at home, or by geographical accident. Good neighbours or bad, let's let it all out :)

You can leave your poem in the comments or post on your own blog; if you do the latter, please leave a comment so we can find you and your excellent offering. Use the topic, or choose another. The objective is to have fun and give your mind a workout.

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We are lucky to have excellent neighbours at the moment -- kind, considerate, friendly, and supportive, yet still allowing everyone to have their private space, given our comparatively small house lots in this town.

But my poem today isn't about those neighbours.

Read on :)

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Sometimes Exasperating . . . But Always Magical

The folks in houses round us
Are top-notch. No complaints.
They have our backs; they are our friends;
They're close to being saints.

But the beasts who range the closest
Are a different sort, all right.
They use our yard as bed and bath;
Munch everything in sight.

They flaunt their coats of fur!
(How unethical can you get!)
And as for paying monthly rent?
Well -- not one penny yet.

They even had their babies
Along the property line,
And brought them back for naps and snacks,
Time after time after time.

If they were human neighbours,
There would be heck to pay.
But since they're white-tailed deer, you know,
It's fine! They're A-okay :)


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Some photos from last summer, of the neighbours in question, follow.

I wish I could have gotten a picture of the two wobbly fawns that we think were born in the back yard tree line (the second year in a row!) but I didn't dare disturb them. But as the fawns grew, it was easier to get pictures because they were no longer hiding in the bushes. There were two mothers who visited regularly with their babies (one mother had one fawn, the other had two), and there were an additional mom and fawn that occasionally joined the rest.

These shots are not clear, but they'll give you an idea of what we were seeing all summer.

The earliest picture I could get after the babies started showing up

Taken through our basement window. Note the ears up close to the window; this was one of the twins, lying down next to the house. The other twin, along with mama, is in the background.

The body attached to those ears, after he/she stood up

The twins, having a snack. I wondered why my perennial geraniums weren't blooming this year. Eventually I realized they'd all been mowed off by little teeth!

Napping in the sun. Still wearing baby spots.

Later in the summer. The baby spots are gone.

Can you spot six deer in this very hazy photo? Taken in the fall; you can see the tree to the right has mostly changed colour.

The video was taken early in the summer.


And one final shot, from our front verandah. This is the twins' mama, with one of the fawns. This mom was very thin all summer. You can see her ribs in the photo. Feeding two babies is tough on the mother. I hope all of them survive the winter.

"Mom! That two-legged animal is looking at me again!"

And here's a casualty of the grazing habits of our "neighbours". This used to be a beautiful geranium but in its first peak flowering, one morning all of the blooms were gone. There was a muddy hoofprint on the verandah that identified the culprit!

If you enlarge the screen (press Control and the "+" keys a few times) you'll see the denuded blossom stalks in the center of the shot. This is why we can't have nice things! Well, this, plus cats :)

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I hope the upcoming week brings you lots of magic and not much (if any) exasperation :)

Note: The topic for next week's Poetry Monday is ......WINDOWS.....

Good luck!

 

And then there's this . . .

. . . (click on link) My Turn

Twelve seconds of joy, and the best part in my opinion is at the ten-second mark!

In other news, have you caught on to the fact that I've figured out how to link to videos in Twitter feeds????

Don't worry, I won't be making a habit of it :)

Pause, and . . .

. . . have a peek at something to hopefully brighten your day 😄

(Click on the link below)

The Dueling Duo




 
https://twitter.com/Lisa_Bizzle/status/1193220924327288834The Dueling Duo https://twitter.com/Lisa_Bizzle/status/1193220924327288834

Poetry Monday: Glasses

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

Join Diane (who provided the topic), MotherOwl, Mimi, Merry Mae and me as we polish our thoughts on glasses of any kind, whether the ones you wear or the ones from which you drink. You can leave your poem in the comments or post on your own blog; if you do the latter, please leave a comment so we can track you down. Use the topic, or choose another; the objective is to have fun and work our brains :)

*****

I've worn glasses since I was eight years old.

Those glasses came in the iconic frames from each decade: cat's-eye in the sixties, wire granny glasses in the seventies, the huge window panes and heavy frames of the eighties, the wire frames (again) in the nineties, the half-rimless specs and the very small lenses of the first decade of the new century, which -- may I say -- were the absolute worst, even worse than cat's eye frames, because it was like looking through a peephole, fer cryin' out loud.

Currently I am wearing super-light frames made from a strong and flexible metal that I'm awfully glad I chose when I had the chance, because I recently stepped on them and they didn't even get bent, let alone break.

Let me pause here to painfully remember how many times I broke either the bridge or the earpiece of plastic frames when I was a kid, and wore taped-up glasses to school for weeks while waiting for a replacement. Any of you who wore the same kind of frames in the same time period of your life probably know what I'm talking about.

Over the years, my lenses have gone from coke-bottle-thick to ultra-thin due to industry improvements and also due to my cataract surgery that installed partially-corrective artificial lenses in my peepers, allowing me -- for the first time since I was that eight-year-old child -- to get up in the morning without needing to slap on my spectacles first.

But recently I have wished with all my heart for a new kind of glasses -- the kind that would help me see into other people's wounded hearts and minds, and make me a kinder, more understanding person.

Especially with my mom. She is suffering cognitive decline, which includes both memory loss and impaired logical thinking. She will ask me the same questions over and over, some of them intrusive and overbearing and some of them just annoying. Most of the time I just give the same answers over and over, but sometimes, for whatever reason -- if I'm feeling unwell, or tired, or in a time crunch, or just because I want my old mom back -- I will hotly point out that she's asked that same exact question several times already. Then her mask of self-sufficiency slips, she laughs vaguely and says, yes, you are right, and I feel like a monster for saying aloud what her faulty memory is allowing her to forget.

This week's poem is about the vision I need at this stage in my life as a daughter.

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In Which I Also Make Excuses, And Feel Guilty

Her eyes, once so sharp, once so clear and so blue
Are watery now, and a hazier hue.
She searches for words and forgets people's names,
And tells the same stories again and again.

I tell myself patience I'd easier find
If only she'd listen to my keener mind,
If only she'd do what I've planned she should do,
If only her stubbornness she would subdue . . .

But she's always been feisty, relied on herself,
Used her own brain, made her choices on health.
And even though now her thought processes fail 
She doesn't want help and her word must prevail.

And so I am set off by trivial things,
And fail to allow for the changes age brings:
The lapses in memory, and constant repeats --
The deficits youthful minds scorn and defeat.

I wish I could see the pathways in Mom's brain:
The damage . . . short-circuits . . . cells circling the drain.
But insight's elusive . . . flawed vision, you know . . .  
How I wish there were glasses to help make it so.
  

Image: Pixabay

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Next week's topic will be ............ NEIGHBOURS (or "neighbors" without the "u", if you insist :))

Have a good week, everyone.



  

Poetry Monday: Busy Days

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

Join Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi, Merry Mae and me as we get down to busy-ness and create our masterpieces. You can leave your poem in the comments or post on your own blog and leave a comment here so we know where to find you. Use the topic, or choose another; the object is to have fun and make our heads think!

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Last week was full of busy days for me. There was visiting, and being visited, and Halloween, and phone calls upon phone calls, and meetings, and all the usual stuff that a person has to do to keep a house running. I feel like I accomplished quite a bit, which was good, but it was a huge relief to make it to the oasis of the weekend, and then to check the calendar for next week and see nothing planned.

That's not to say I'll be doing nothing. We couldn't have our family Thanksgiving dinner back in October because my husband and I were recovering from colds and didn't want to risk giving our germs to our elderly mothers (or anyone else, for that matter). So our replacement Thanksgiving will be this Sunday, and that will involve some extra housecleaning this week. But other than that, it will be quiet here. There will be time to read and make Christmas ornaments for a second craft sale and go for some walks.

These were my thoughts when I was contemplating "busy days" for Poetry Monday.

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No Offense But I'm Not Answering The Doorbell This Week

Days that are full have their own special charm:
Completing my Do list as long as my arm ...
Visiting special folks too long unseen ...
Getting through meetings or errands routine ...

But days that are quiet are what I live for;
No drama, no worry (both things I abhor).
Some think it is boring, but I disagree;
My life's not for them but it's perfect for me.
 

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Wishing you a week that's just as busy or quiet as you like it :)

Next week's topic will be ...... GLASSES (any kind). Thanks, Diane!

Halloween Funnies

Happy Halloween, people! And if you're not into celebrating, at least enjoy these funnies :)

(The sign says, "Please do not feed the sharks.")

Tomorrow is the first day of November ........now, THAT is scary!

Poetry Monday: Tuna

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

Join Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi, Merry Mae and me (that's a lot of m's!) as we take a deep dive into the waters of this topic. You can leave your poem in the comments here or post on your own blog; if you do the latter, please leave a comment so we can find you and your poem. Use the topic or choose another; the objective is to have fun and make our brains work a little harder.

Note: Diane is still in Technical Difficulty Land and will not be posting a poem this week. She hopes to rejoin us next Poetry Monday.

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What can I say about tuna?

About the only time I have anything to do with fish of any kind is to open a can of it to make sandwiches.

But who is that, anxiously hovering at my feet before I even get the can opener halfway around the lid?

Lulu the cat, that's who. Lulu, with her "tuna meow" -- a full-throated, rounded-vowel voice that is reserved solely for this event, telling me exactly how much she wants what she knows is coming: a small amount of tuna broth in a tiny feeding dish.

Our other cat, Missy, is not overly impressed with tuna broth, although she usually laps it up. I really don't think she'd care if she never had it again.

Lulu cares. She cares deeply. Truly madly deeply, as the song says.

Thus, today you shall get a poem from Lulu. (Full disclosure: She meowed it to me, and I typed it for her.)

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I Heart Tuna Broth

There is nothing so fine as the broth from a fish
It smells so divine and it tastes so delish
It's lovely, it's wondrous, it makes me meowwww
I love it so much I would like some right nowwwwww

Not meowing here, because it's not a tuna broth occasion. But she felt this was a decent photo of her. ("You got my good side," she said.)

*****

I hope you all have a treat this week which is as uplifting to your spirits as tuna broth is to Lulu's.

Next week we will be tackling the topic . . . . . . . busy days . . . . .

Good luck!

Poetry Monday: Soap

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

Join Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi and me as we get in a lather over this topic. You can leave your poem in the comments or post on your own blog; if you do the latter, please let us know in the comments so we can track you down. Use the topic or choose another -- the objective is to have fun and be creative, so let your hair down and give it a try :)

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We're having a federal election in Canada today. I will doggedly go and do my civic duty, but it will be hard. The two leading parties have been mud-slinging and stretching the truth about both their own and the other parties' performance and promises.  One or more of the remaining four parties may end up holding the balance of power in a minority goverment, but are out of contention as far as forming a government goes. So unless a person votes strategically, which can be even more of a gamble, there are really just two choices on the ballot as far as I can see.

May I also just say how disappointed I am in our governing Liberals. They have broken so many important promises they made in the 2015 election, it stuns and grieves me. Some folks would say that any liberal party is better than any conservative one, but I am so disillusioned I'm at the point of asking, Is it really? Is a party that said it cared about indigenous people, electoral reform, women participating in government, and ending deficit spending, but whose actions have failed, at times spectacularly, on all those fronts, really better than the others?

I don't know what the answer is, but I've had a little pointed fun at the expense of the two main parties today and this is the result.

*****

 You're Both Full Of It

This vigorous poke with a hot sharp stick
Is accompanied by a good swift kick
Sent to our Canadian Tories* and Grits**
Your election campaigns have been the pits
Why can't we have: (1) consideration
For all the folks who live in our nation
(2) Do our bit to help others and the planet
Yet (3) spend within our means, goshdarnit***
Please say something sincere to give us hope
Or we'll rinse your political mouths with soap
And if you make promises with no carry-through
Next time the ones voted out will be YOU 

*Tories =Conservatives
** Grits =Liberals
*** You might think I really meant something else that rhymes better, and you'd be right.

Thanks, Steve Reed, for catching my mistake re Tories/Grits. I'll have to fire my proofreader, lol (that would be me). It's fixed now 😃

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Oooooooooo, Donkey's worked up quite a head of steam. That's what happens when quiet folks have been pushed beyond their limit.

Don't worry; I'll be back to normal in a few days.

Thanks for reading, folks -- may you all have a fairy tale week that starts with "once upon a time" and not the other thing :)

The topic next week, coming to you from Diane in Technical Difficulty Land, is . . . TUNA. Good luck!

Please note that Diane's poem is posted in the comments below because she is in . . . Technical Difficulty Land . . .

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Bonus election funnies:

Kitty is very fetching in those eyeglasses, isn't he?

. . . or you could just DUCK . . . heh heh

Topic change for Poetry Monday October 21

MotherOwl's keen eyes spotted the fact that we have already covered the topic of "shoes" -- quite recently, in fact -- in May of this year.

Oops! I blame it on my cold not checking carefully enough!

Thanks, MotherOwl.

Instead, next week we will write about ................ SOAP ......... a nice clean topic, too!

Poetry Monday: My Bucket List

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is . . . . . our BUCKET LIST.

Join Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi and me as we pour out our thoughts on this topic in poetic form. You can leave your poem in the comments or post on your own blog; if you do the latter, please leave a comment so we can find you. Use the topic, or choose another; the idea is to have fun and work our thinkers; we don't get all tied in knots about rules in this poetry challenge :)

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I have, on occasion, contemplated what I would have on my Bucket List.

But as yet, I haven't found much of interest to put on that list, so this week's topic presents a bit of a challenge.

My hope for the time between now and my demise is just to live as long as I can, as healthily as I can, and then swan out of life with as little pain and inconvenience as possible.

Of course, I know that isn't likely to happen. I remember reading years ago that only 2% of the population dies peacefully in their sleep. Can one put "die peacefully and painlessly in my sleep" on a Bucket List?? I don't think that's the way it works.

Am I lacking in ambition, imagination, or motivation? Or all three? I don't know.

All I know for sure is that I've had a cold all week, so this poem is rather clunky because my brain isn't working at peak or even half capacity. My apologies in advance.


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I Guess There Is Something I'd Like To Do . . .

Folks nowadays often have a Bucket List
Of things they don't want to have died and missed
They do not wish to fade into the dark
Before they've ticked off everything
                    (or at least a majority of things) with a great big check mark . . .

Me? My Bucket List is non-existent
Travel is out, for at home I'm content
I don't have the desire to improve myself
So I won't be taking college classes
                    or running marathons or creating an empty shelf * . . .

There is no unfinished business in my life
No words unsaid, no unmended inter-personal strife
(I say what I need to when the chance is had
And my yardstick for behavior is to ask myself:
                    if I do this thing (or don't), will I later feel bad **) . . .

Granted, my needs and wants are few
I'm happy with home and hearth, it's true
That makes it easier to be happy with what I've got
And it doesn't hurt that I'm fortunate enough
                    to have gotten, relatively speaking, quite an awful lot . . .

Clean water, food, clothing and a roof
I'm luckier than many - a sad truth
Books and a bit of nature in my back yard
Are icing on the cake for a life that's been
                    very easy compared to so many lives that are hard . . .

If you have a Bucket List please do not fear
That I, having none, am judging you, my dear
We are all different and that is a beautiful thing
I invite you to divulge your list through writing
                    or interpretative dance or maybe you could sing . . .

And - OH! - I just came up with an item for my list
I need to point it out in case my shocking lack you missed
Before I die I want to rhyme a verse just as I ought
Instead of having every fourth line rhymed
                    by way of a long and meandering thought . . .
       



* Having an empty shelf somewhere in your home is one recommendation of some declutter gurus. It's supposed to provide a feeling of spaciousness or some other benefit that I can't quite remember now because it didn't make much sense to me when I read it. Actually, decluttering is one way I really could improve myself, if the truth be told. There are a dozen others, and in Real Life I'm acutely aware of them, but in Poetry Land I take liberties.

** This part is true, in case I've just made you question my honesty.

Kitty considers his bucket list. Number one: No water in the bucket please. Number two: Getting out of the bucket.         (Photo: Pixabay)

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So how about you? What's on your Bucket List?

Wishing you a bucketful of good things in your life this week :)

Next week's Poetry Monday topic will be ........... SOAP.  Good luck!

Poetry Monday: Paper

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

Join Diane, MotherOwl, Mimi and me as we make our mark on this topic (har! har!). You can leave a poem in the comments or post on your own blog; if you do the latter, please leave a comment so we can find you. Use the topic or choose another -- the object is to have fun and stretch our imaginations.

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I think my poem this week is pretty much self-explanatory.

Sometimes I think I shouldn't be explaining so much anyway. A poem should stand alone, I think to myself.

Then I remember all those English classes in school when we had to read poetry and I had no idea what was going on. Sometimes I would have appreciated a few notes to go with the poem to tell me just what the heck the author meant.

At other times, it was clear without any help.

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Empty Or Full -- It's All Good

Two kinds of paper delight me
Two kinds that I wholly adore
Blank sheets all ready for writing
And printed ones from a bookstore

The empty page begs for a story
A poem or thought from my mind
And the pages of books made by others
Are a treat and a treasure sublime

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See? Pretty transparent, eh?

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On writing ...

On reading ...

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What's your favourite paper thing?

Wishing you a week full of good stuff!

Next week's topic will be updated here when Diane has published her poem . . . . . . . .