Just a little happy page from one of my journals:
Humor/Fun
Wordless Wednesday – 8/28/19
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Archery Lesson
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Two Cinquain Just For Fun
I haven’t written any cinquain in several months. That’s not like me at all, so I decided I’d remedy that situation today and write two.
Faulty Garden
Zenias
I planted some,
And nice green stems came up.
But months have passed and still no blooms.
What’s wrong???
Closing In On Christmas
August
Has come so fast.
This year is flying by.
But I don’t mind, for Christmas then
Is close.
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House of Flawed Flowers — Friday Fictioneers 6/5/19
I haven’t played “Friday Fictioneers” in a long time, but today when I saw the picture I couldn’t help myself. I take no responsibility for the subject matter. It was the jacket hanging on the end of the banister that did it. Honestly — I couldn’t help it. 🙂 And the weirdest thing is that it came out at exactly 99 words without any editing. Go figure.
Here’s the picture prompt courtesy of Ceayr
HOUSE OF FLAWED FLOWERS
It was a unique little operation. Nothing like the “red-light” districts Derek had been used to. No money actually changed hands here. Men who used the service hung their jackets on the end of the stair banister with the fee in the pocket. Once they were ensconced upstairs, Madam Beatrice relieved the jacket of its contents, and replaced it for the client to retrieve when finished. She even included an innocuous receipt for tax purposes: “One House Special – $100.” Derek had a desk drawer full of those receipts, but he couldn’t use them. His wife was his accountant.
Think Pink
This poem is part of my “Color Me Happy” series on my poetry site. I thought readers here might enjoy it as well.
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When you feel your emotions are starting to sink,
Think pink.
When you’re fed up with politics and all the stink,
Think pink.
When you’re so mad your panties are all in a kink,
Think pink.
When losing your sanity’s just on the brink,
Think pink.
And why should you choose such a color, you ask?
Because when we choose in pink’s color to bask,
We’re cuddled and coddled in this pleasant shade.
It pampers and pets us and makes our hearts glad.
God, in His infinite wisdom did choose
Pink as a color important to use
When bringing the dawn of a new day alive
And when setting the sun to usher in night.
There’s something quite primal in pink I have found —
Something so elemental it’s almost profound.
We respond as if there’s an umbilical link.
So whatever the problem — to fix it, think pink.
Let’s Talk Coffee – Day 6
JOE ON THE GO
Carry-out coffee is one of the greatest inventions of the human race. Okay, maybe that’s a little over-the-top where praise is concerned, but for people in the 21st century who have to be on the move for 12 to 15 hours of every 24, it’s a genuine blessing.
Note of interest: I’ve often wondered why coffee is sometimes referred to by the nickname “Joe.” There are several theories out there, but the one that seems to me to be the best substantiated is the one concerning former Secretary of the Navy, Josephus Daniels. Here’s the link to that story: “Why Coffee Is Called ‘Joe.'”
graphic courtesy of Verbera @ pixabay.com
Let’s Talk Coffee – Day 5
The heroes and heroines in all my novels love coffee. It’s a given because intelligent, fascinating, delightful people always do. 🙂
photo courtesy of Fernando Zhiminalcela @ pixabay.com
Let’s Talk Coffee – Day 3
~ COFFEE BREAK IN PROGRESS ~
~ PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB ~
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Let’s Talk Coffee – Day 2
CHECKLIST FOR THE PERFECT HUSBAND
1. Must love coffee
2. Must be able to brew a great pot of coffee
3. Who cares? If he’s nailed the first two, he’s bound to get everything else right.
`
photo courtesy of Nathan Dumlao at Unsplash
Happy May Day!
Hey,
Today is the first of May!
That means that Spring is here to stay!
Hooray!
Oooops, NaPoWriMo Slipped Up On Me
A Poet Must Do What a Poet Must Do
I’m not ready for NaPoWriMo.
I should create some kind of verse.
And I’d better get onto it pronto:
It’s already April the first.
A poem with some kind of meaning
Is not always easy to write.
So I’ll just have to settle for something
That’s simple, perhaps even trite.
A jingle with sing-songy wording,
A love poem packed with cliches,
A limerick rolling with laughter —
One a day for the next thirty days!
Well, I can’t sit here just ruminating.
I’m a poet, and my duty’s clear:
NaPoWriMo has issued the challenge,
So I’ll start with this poem right here.
For the sake of full disclosure, I will say right now that I do not have any plans to write a new poem every day during the month of April. My work schedule will simply not allow for that amount of added writing this month. But I was feeling giddy about 1:00 this morning, and I figured I’d at least write one little ditty to kick off NaPoWriMo, 2019.
The Foot Test
In honor of this month of love, I thought I’d close it out with a jewel from my poetry archives — a piece I wrote several years ago for a NAPOWRIMO challenge to write a poem about love without using any of the hearts, flowers, cupids, or cliches normally attached to the sentiment. I had totally forgotten about writing this piece until I was wandering idly through my archives this week and spotted it. So for those of you who are looking for a way to determine whether what you’re experiencing is true love or not, maybe this little poem can be of help.
I know in this old world, it’s sad, but true:
Emotional relationships can fail.
And marriages, though formerly ’til death,
Now change as fast as color on the nails.
But I’m convinced our troth will still endure.
I’m sure of you as you are sure of me.
I know because we’re comfortable together
When on the same footstool we prop our feet.
What better test of faithfulness and trust,
Than doffing shoes and bravely baring toes.
Our feet look comfy, happy, and complete,
And for commitment’s sake we hold our nose.
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photo: clker.com
Nursery Nonsense Continues
Haven’t posted anything new in a while, and today I decided to make myself write. Unfortunately, when I sat down to the keyboard, the only thing that would stick in my mind were the first-line words of a centuries old nursery rhyme. Well, why not, I thought. And here’s the slightly embarrassing result. But it was sort of fun.
The Gutenberg Project – http://www.gutenberg.org/
Nursery Nonsense Continues
“Hey, diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle;
The cow jumped over the moon.”
I remember it well
This nursery rhyme swell,
And its sing-songy poetry tune.
But I’ve scratched at my head
Wondering, when all that’s said,
What on earth can it possibly mean?
Doggy barks in dismay;
Dish and spoon run away,
But no value or sense can I glean.
Well, hey, diddle, diddle,
It matters so little
That no reason comes in this rhyme.
For centuries now
It has cheered us somehow,
And will do so through eons of time.
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Anthropology 101
{I took a little jaunt through my short story archives today and went waaaaaaaay back. When I got to this one, I stopped and read it again. I have to say I still love it as much as I did when I wrote it —- and that’s a lot. Hope you get a chuckle out of it.}
My marriage to an anthropologist was educational – and short. Herman loved his work and was really quite vain about it. He honestly believed that there was no people group that he could not figure out and eventually befriend – even when scores of others in his field had failed.
For years, he had been studying one particular tribe of natives on a tiny island in the Pacific that most ship’s captains refused as a port of call. The tribe was said to be cannibalistic, but my Herman just knew that he could convert them after explaining how much he had studied them in order to become their friend.
On looking back, I suppose that I should have put my foot down and refused when he insisted we honeymoon on the island. But he was so certain that he could convince the natives to help him with his research. So, as usual in our relationship, I acquiesced. My friends and family scolded me for my attitude. They said Herman should be treating me like a goddess rather than just ordering me around and dragging me off to some God-forsaken island to begin our marriage.
When we booked passage on the ship, we had to pay for a skiff as well because the captain told us that he would anchor far offshore, and we would have to go the rest of the way on our own. When we left the ship, he reminded us again what fools he considered us. But Herman insisted that he had everything under control.
We hadn’t been on the island more than an hour before the tribe captured us. They were quite large – both men and women – and exceedingly dark in coloring. They bound Herman immediately and tied him to a large pole at one end of their village. I was shaking like a leaf as they approached me, but they just looked at me with wide eyes and smiles, while making the most excited conversation with each other. I could understand only a very small part of what they said – mainly by their actions.
Then four of them brought a huge carrier – sort of a chair supported between two long poles and carried by the natives. One of the men – seemingly the chief – took my hand and escorted me to the chair.They then carried me ceremonially into the center of the village and escorted me to an elevated area on which sat a throne – all inlaid with gold. I sat, still quaking inside, but almost too overcome by my curiosity to concentrate on being afraid.
Next they placed a crown of the most exquisite jewels on my head and then bowed down to the ground in front of me. Finally, I spoke and asked in my own language for an explanation. One young man came forward and spoke to me in my native tongue to explain.
Evidently my golden blond hair was a sign to them. They had been expecting the goddess of their tribe to come to them in person for many years, and the sign of her true identity was that her head would shine like the sun. So I’m to be worshiped and given every one of my heart’s desires forever. I suppose one might say that, in a way, it’s thanks to Herman that I’m being treated like a goddess.
Of course, they prepared a huge feast in celebration of my arrival, and I guess everyone would have to admit that Herman truly did give his all for the cause of getting to know this tribe of people better. Naturally, I declined any food.
I certainly miss Herman, but I have to admit that what worries me more is what will happen when my roots start to grow out.
The Happy Wordcrafter 