Poetry Monday: King Tut (It's a short poem today, I promise)

It's Poetry Monday! The topic this week is King Tut, highly relevant because November is the anniversary of the discovery of his tomb in 1922.

Join Diane and me (Delores is on hiatus for now) as we break the seal on our thoughts about this momentous event in history. If you would like to leave a poem on this or any topic, please feel free to post it in the comments on either of our blogs. Or if you prefer to post on your own blog, leave us a comment to let us know where to find you.

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As I suspect many of you did, I grew up with a general idea of who King Tut was. I can't remember where I first read or heard of his tomb and its dazzling treasures; it's one of those bits of information that I must have encountered in elementary school because it seems to have been in my brain for a long, long, looooooong time.

I decided to go back and re-read about the famous Boy King. If you would like a refresher, this link will take you to a Wikipedia entry. 

In reading about what is known of the young king's health in his short lifetime, I was struck by the suffering he must have endured. DNA studies and x-rays and other tests done on his mummified remains have provided evidence that he likely had some or all of the following: a cleft palate, mild scoliosis, congenital fusion of seven vertebrae in his neck, a deformed foot caused by the death of bone tissue, numerous episodes of malaria, and a compound fracture and infection in one leg.

These are serious health concerns even in today's world. Imagine what it must have been like in a time over 3,000 years ago, when there was no real help for these issues. King Tut died when he was only 18 or 19. There are numerous theories about the cause of his death, but his medical issues alone make one reflect on how fragile his health must have been.

However . . . as often seems to happen to me . . . what stayed in my brain most clearly, despite the serious matter of this young man's short life and early death, is one relatively mundane fact:  that his internal organs, like those of many other mummies, were found separate from the rest of his body. They had been removed and stored in jars (called canopic jars). Keeping the mooshy parts of the body apart from the body proper makes sense, I suppose, given the high moisture content in them, but it was one of those bits of information that seems to be now stuck in my head in a more easily accessible spot than I might have wished.

Aaaaaaand . . . that brings us to my poem. This week, a limerick!

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Of All The Things About Which I Could Have Excellent Recall, Why Oh Why . . .

King Tut was a very old mummy

His innards were not in his tummy

They'd been put in a jar

OMG, how bizarre

When I die, please don't take mine frummy

 

(Note: If you have a better last line for this crummy/yummy poem, please please please let me know, because the rhymes for mummy and tummy are few and far between. Thank you. Thank you very much.)

Always read the label. And if it's a question mark? Don't eat the contents.

 By the way, this is what King Tut's jars actually look like:

© Charlie Phillips - Canopic Jars of Tutankhamun (found at: https://www.ancient-egypt-online.com/king-tut.html) I believe copyright means I'm not supposed to use this photo here without permission, so if it disappears you'll know my blog has been discovered by an excellent photographer and I've been asked to take down his photo. Somehow I don't see that happening, but you never know. I just thought it was really interesting that "jar" doesn't always mean what I think of as a jar. These are beautiful.

P. S.  Yes indeed, it was a short poem. I didn't promise anything about the remainder of the post. Not short. Not short at all. Sorry about that. I have to try to do better in future.


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Wishing you a good week, people!

. . . Preferably a week filled with something other than trivia that will get stuck in your head and make you feel squeamish for days . . . . . . .

Update:  Next week's topic is "gifts" . . .

Poetry Monday: The Things We Build

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is "the things we build."

Join Diane and I (Delores is on hiatus for now) as we construct stuff using nails, glue, double-sided sticky tape, a deck of cards, staples, our imaginations, and/or spit. Or maybe . . . snow.

If you'd like to take part, you can leave your poem in the comments on either of our blogs, or if you prefer to post on your own blog, please leave a note in the comments to let us know where to find you.

Today my poem comes without a lot of preamble, but with a whole lot of poem. But I think once you get started it will roll along nicely.

I hope.

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How To Build A Snowman: A Guide For Grownups

First, get one or more kids.
Then, make it snow.
(Make sure it's sticky snow.)
(Preferably in a flat place.)
(Six inches of snow is just about perfect.)
(This is probably the hardest part of the whole thing.)
Then, dress kids in warm clothing.
Include mittens, please.
Snow is very cold.
Show kids how to pack the snow into a snowball,
Using their mittened hands.
Replace mittens on kids' hands
If they stick to the snow.
The mittens, not the kids' hands.
Then put the snowball on the snowy flat place
And push it around.
If you like to be orderly, roll in a straight line.
If you want to have fun, roll in all directions.
But not all at once.
Because that's kind of impossible.
Although it's fun to try.
Reminds me of a line from a Stephen Leacock story.
(Stephen Leacock was a funny Canadian author.)
(If you have time, read the whole story.)
(It's hilarious.)
Where was I? Oh yes.
The ball will grow quickly.
Stop when it gets too heavy to push.
Try to stop in a place where it can be seen
And admired.
While you have a rest,
Have kids make another ball of snow
Not quite as big as the first.
If time and snow permit,
Have kids make a third ball of snow
Not quite as big as the second.
Now it's your turn again, big person.
Put the medium snowball on the large snowball
And put the small snowball on the medium snowball.
I know it's complicated but you can do it.
Don't hurt your back.
Find some pieces of coal to make eyes, mouth and buttons.
Wait, people don't use coal at home anymore.
That might be tricky.
Maybe use little rocks instead.
Or twigs from a tree.
Or seed pods from the dead plants in your garden
Because all the plants will be dead
Because snow.
Where was I? Oh yes.
Or use something from your fridge
Like prunes or plum pits or peach pits.
Use your imagination.
Do I have to think of everything for you?
While you're rooting in the fridge
Find an old carrot that you don't want to eat.
A parsnip will work also.
Broccoli can be used in a pinch.
And if you ask me, it's a better use of broccoli
Than eating it.
Where was I? Oh yes.
Stick that in the snowman's head to make a nose.
If you have an old scarf and hat,
Please add those, too.
If you're feeling wild and crazy
Use a colander for a hat.
Snowmen don't get cold.
Well, they're cold to start with
But you know what I mean.
However, they like to be well-dressed.
Don't give your snowman a pipe, though.
Even though a pipe is classic snowman ornamentation,
Smoking is bad for them.
If you have enough time, and enough snow,
Build another snowman
Or a snowdog. Or a snow cat. Or a snow donkey.
Use your imagination.
But above all,
Make sure the kids have fun.
And loosen up and have fun yourself.
You big person with the kid inside.

Basic snowman for illustrative purposes.

Actual snowman in the wild.

This is what happens when the snow is too shallow. It's a snowgrassman. But fun in its own way.

Snowman with collander hat. Maybe it's a cooking pot. It's hard to tell.

Non-smoking celebratory snowman celebrates.

Littlest snowman ever. This is how you take your snowman indoors to take his picture. Put him in a foil tart pan. I love this little guy.

(Photos: Pixabay. Thanks, all you generous people who contribute free use of your awesome pictures for others to enjoy.)

 

Thanks for reading, my people. If you get the chance to make a snowman, embrace it. The chance, I mean. Heck, embrace the snowman, too. Act like a big kid. You'll be glad you did.

 

Update:  Next week's topic, as described in Diane's own words:

 "This day in 1922,

King Tut's room was brought to view!"

Well, now . . . that will be a bit of a challenge, at least for me!

Poetry Monday on Thursday: Someplace Warm

So, it seems I owe Poetry Monday a poem . . .

The topic this week is "someplace warm" . . . Join Diane and I as we visit this subject at a time when our Canadian weather is heading for "someplace cold" . . . (Delores is on hiatus for the time being.)

Travel with us to your own warm place -- where would it be? Feel free to leave a poem in the comments on either of our blogs, or on  your own blog -- if you do that, please leave a note in the comments to let us know how to find you.

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Daughter and family are safely landed in their new city far, far, FAR away . . . and we had a good final visit with them before their departure. I have carefully filed away those good memories in a safe place in my head, right beside the storage spot for my name, so I'll be able to retrieve them easily. And now that the wrench of seeing them leave has come and gone, I am able to start looking ahead to the time when we will see them again.

Close to home, our weather is not just heading for someplace cold, the cold has arrived with snow and gale force winds. Just after Daughter and family flew out of Nova Scotia, we got walloped with an early snowstorm. Within twelve hours, the snow was gone again -- washed away by rain and a sudden rise in temperature. Within another twelve hours, the red line in our outdoor thermometer had dropped like a stone and the wind had come up. Result: -20C (-4F) with the wind chill factor, and it felt every degree that cold.

Boom -- winter! Boots, scarves, winter jackets and gloves -- all hauled out of the back of the closet and gratefully worn.

And along with all the winter clothing, I've got memories to keep me warm.

Read on.


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Warm Places

A southerly latitude would be warmer by far;
Or a day in mid-summer, whilst inside a closed car;
A fire in the stove would be cozy and roasty;
Wearing sweaters and socks would be nearly as toasty;

But the things that will keep me the warmest, somehow,
Are the memories I'm wrapping myself in right now.

Hot chocolate, and love.

 (Photo: Pixabay)


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Update:  Next week's theme is "the things we build" . . .

 

  

Poetry Monday . . . delayed this week

There will be a slight delay as Donkey waves forlornly at Daughter and family as they disappear into the wild blue yonder . . .

But here's a consolation poem:

Photo courtesy of icanhas.cheezburger.com


As Arnie in all his movie incarnations was fond of saying: "I'll be back . . ."

Poetry Monday: Common Sense

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is "common sense."

Join Diane and I as we try to make sense of common sense. (Delores is on hiatus for the time being.)

You can leave your poem in the comments on either of our blogs, or if you want to post it on your own blog, please leave us a comment so we can find you and cheer you on. Use the topic or not; the objective is just to exercise our brains and have fun.


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I had a whole long meandering post written about how I'm not really sure what common sense is, and whether you're born with it or if you can acquire it through actively seeking knowledge and experience, and how I've never, ever been accused of having it (which feels like it's probably a bad thing,) and how some things that come easily to me don't come easily to other people, and vice versa, and I wasn't really getting anywhere with the post except making myself so bored my eyes were rolling around in my head, and I figured in the interest of not driving everyone away I'd better get right to the poem.

So I did. Here it is. It's the same thing I just wrote except the lines are shorter and there is punctuation. I hope your eyes don't roll around in your head.

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Common Sense

What is common sense?
Is it something
We are born with?
Or do we acquire it
Through experience?
I am curious
Because I feel I lack it
And I've been trying
My entire adult life
To develop it.
Tell me.
Tell me what you think.

Is it something you're born with?

Or can you learn it?

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Thank you for reading. Apologies for a rather lacklustre poetry effort. My mind has been very occupied with our daughter's impending move to the USA. The leaving date is one week and one day away. I'm feeling pretty bleak as the date gets closer.



Wishing you a good week, my friends.

Update:  Next week's topic is . . . "someplace warm" . . .

Poetry Monday: Halloween

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is Halloween. Join Diane, Delores, and me as we knock on all the doors in our brains and yell "trick or treat!" and see what happens . . .

You can leave your Halloween treats poem in the comments on any of our doorsteps blogs, or post on your own blog, in which case please leave a hairy eyeball comment so we can find you and eat your brains cheer you on! I don't know how those extra words keep finding their way in, but trust me, you're about to be frightened out of your wits safe here with me! Mwahahaha . . .

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Well, the craft sale is over, and I am mostly recovered. All four fingers on my left hand fell victim to hot glue, and I burned my arm brushing against a hot oven wall, but on the plus side I didn't burn a single one of the fifteen dozen oatcakes that I made to sell, so the whole "luck" thing balanced out. I spent almost everything I made on products from the other vendors (to give for Christmas and birthday gifts), so the whole "money" thing balanced out, too.

And then, just like that, it was Sunday night, and I had nary a line of poetry written.

But I had been thinking about it, in between hot gluing my fingers ornaments and baking my arm oatcakes.

And here's what I was thinking: after falling down the basement stairs last Halloween, that date is inextricably linked to the concept of "hurt" in my brain. When I think "Halloween," I think "pain." Isn't it strange how the mind works?

My back, which took a hard hit on the corner of a stair, took a couple of months to "come right" as they say, but I also hurt the last two fingers on my right hand, and they are almost back to normal one year later.

How did I hurt my fingers by falling on my back? I was letting our cat up from the basement, and going down the stairs to get her food and water, incidentally also carrying a small fake pumpkin to put into storage for another year. This was the pumpkin . . .

Has a mean look to it, doesn't it?

 . . . and because it was awkward to hold, I had my index and middle fingers through the eye holes. When I fell, I must have whacked the pumpkin (and my hand) against the stairs, too, although I didn't feel it at first because my back hurt like crazy. I'm assuming that hurt cancelled out the other hurt.

I'm also assuming the pumpkin put a spell on me to make my fingers take so long to get better, as payback for sticking my fingers in its eye holes, and also for cracking it in half when I fell. I used my trusty glue gun to fix it after about eight months, because I was tired of seeing it on the kitchen counter and being reminded of my Halloween trip (haha, pun intended), but the damage to me and the damage to Mr. Pumpkin clearly balanced out, just like the crafting burns and the oatcakes and the money in and money out at the craft sale.

Anyhow, I actually went for an x-ray at about the six month mark, because it was still hard to write and carry things, there was still pain and limited flexibility in those fingers, and I wanted to know if there was any damage to the bones before I went for physio. It took so long to get the x-ray taken and then get the results back that my fingers had improved some more by then and so I said to heck with physio and just kept using my fingers as best I could for housework and so on. Home style physio, if you will.

So . . . that's the long preamble over with; here's the poem.

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Pumpkin's Revenge

Halloween was finally over for another year.
Pumpkin Head had done his best to fill the kids with fear.
Donkey headed down the stairs to store him in a trunk,
Fingers in his eyes -- and then she landed with a thunk.

Mr. Pumpkin split in half, and thought that he would die.
He said, "My life is over, and I've never made a pie!" (haha, another dreadful pun)
His pride had suffered, too, from being carried by his eyes;
"That's no way to treat a friend!" he thought -- a silent cry.

He listened to the Donkey's moans, and grinned a bit in spite.
"I guess she's hurting too," he said. "It serves her bloody right!
"She thinks it's just her back that hurts but I've a clever plan:
"I'll put a hex upon the frailest fingers on her hand!"

And sure enough, within the day, how Donkey's misery grew.
Her fingers pained and swelled and then they turned all black and blue.
A year went by and it was nearly Halloween  again --
A year with Pumpkin's awful curse: The Double-Finger-Sprain.

We shouldn't judge the Pumpkin for his lack of empathy --
His head is filled with empty air; his eyes, they cannot see.
But you can bet the Donkey will be handling him with care,
Not poking fingers through his eyes when taking him downstairs!

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Have a Happy Halloween! Please don't take any unexpected trips!

. . . And be careful with your decorations . . .  😈

 

Update:  Next week's topic is . . . common sense . . .

Poetry Monday: The Grandma/Grandpa Club

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is The Grandma (or Grandpa) Club.

Diane, Delores and I are all Grandmas, but if you're a Grandpa -- or if you're neither -- you can still join us in crafting a poem. Leave your offerings in the comments of any of our blogs, or if you post on your own blog, please leave a comment telling us how to find you. The point of this challenge is to exercise our brains and have fun.

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I've been a grandma for a bit less than four years. We have two grandsons, who live within driving distance, but only just close enough for a day trip. With two cats requiring a lot of care at home, our trips are all day trips.

Something is about to change, though. In a big way -- and not in a good way.

In less than one month, our daughter and her husband, with our two little grandsons in tow, are moving very, very far away; on the opposite side of our continent and out of our country. They are moving so our son-in-law can take a new job. The current plan is to work "away" for five years and then move back to Nova Scotia.

As you might imagine, I am pretty sad about the moving away part. I am sad for our daughter, who would rather live in NS (although she has come a long way in accepting and even starting to be excited about some aspects of the move). I am sad for me, and for my husband, and for our moms, who are both elderly. A lot can happen in five years. And a return to our province is not guaranteed.

But.

It can't be changed, so it must be endured.

And, in some ways, even embraced.

I am happy for them that they have this opportunity -- to earn, to travel, to have new experiences and to meet new people.

I am also very grateful for the internet -- email and videoconferencing, especially. We aren't the first grandparents who will keep in touch in those ways, and we won't be the last. Many, many young families from our province have moved west (mostly to Alberta) for work, and if you're out of easy driving range, it doesn't matter if your loved ones are in Alberta or on the west coast of the USA, as ours will be. Face to face visits will be few and far between, and if we want our grandchildren to recognize us when we see them in person, Skype (video) is a great help.

(And I am a terrible traveller, so Skype is good in another way -- no worries about food issues, bathroom issues, sleep issues, motion sickness, or finding a cat-sitter!)

Anyway, all of that is the background for my poem today. It's another short and simple haiku, because I keep getting emotional and can't see the screen for the tears.

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Two Little Boys

Such tiny humans
To have so captivated
Your families' hearts

The Donkey's grandsons. In real life they are not donkeys, of course. But the Awww factor is the same.

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Before I go mop up my face, may I just wish you a good week, my friends -- one where, if necessary, you endure and even embrace change, as hard as that may be.

Update:  Next week's topic is (unsurprisingly!) . . . HALLOWEEN-N-N-N-N . . . Mwahahahaha  😈

Poetry Monday on Tuesday: Doors

It's Poetry Monday, a day late, but all the better for marinating an extra day (she said hopefully), and this week's topic is "doors" . . . join Diane, Delores, and me as we fling open all the doors in our brains to see what drops out.

If you'd like to write along with us, feel free to leave your poem in a comment on any of our blogs. If you'd prefer to post on your own blog, please leave a comment to let us know where to find you, so we can come along and cheer you on. Use the topic, or write about something else -- it's up to you. The object is to work our brains and have fun!

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The topic of "doors" brings to mind my reliance on those hinged wonders to keep my warring cats separate and safe. About a year ago, my husband installed French doors throughout our living/dining area so that we can close off one or two rooms at a time.  I like this arrangement better than putting one cat in the basement while the other one is with us. I think they like it better, too. They can see us even if they can't be with us every minute.

The other side of this is that they can see each other.

Here is a picture of Lulu, our warrior cat, looking through the little windows, trying to see Missy, our lame cat.

I don't know if she is thinking that she'd like to make a meal of Missy, or if she's afraid Missy is ready to come after her, but she likes to keep an eye on things all the time. It's a good thing the windows go all the way to the bottom of the door. Otherwise we'd have to install a set of stairs and a viewing platform. Oh, Lulu. I know what it's like to be short. Maybe I need to write a post about that. 😜


Anyway, today's poem is written from Lulu's point of view.


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Haiku For Doors

Doors. They keep me out.
Or maybe they keep me in.
Either way, I'm safe. And bored.


(Yes, there are too many syllables in that last line. Not all cats know the rules about haiku. Or maybe they do, but -- as usual -- they don't care.)


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October is always busier than normal for me. It starts with Thanksgiving, morphs into two weeks of deadlines at work, and ends up with a double bang -- my annual craft show and Hallowe'en. The craft show is the thing I am least prepared for. So I'm busy sewing and stuffing and gluing and sequining and burning/stabbing my fingers -- trying to do in one month what I should have been doing all year. Procrastination strikes again. 😬

The upside? Short poems!! Enjoy it while it lasts! 😝

And I've just discovered the Blogger emojis, if you hadn't already noticed. 😵

Feel free to leave me your thoughts on doors. Or even The Doors. Speaking of which, here's Light My Fire to take you waaaaaay back:

Now I shall go light a fire under myself and get some more crafting done. Wishing you a good week, people!

Update:  Next week's topic is . . . "The Grandma Club" . . . (or "The Grandpa Club" if appropriate)