Wednesday, May 29, 2024

Fancy Writes a Poem

 Deadline morning found me still totally blank on the prompt "underneath." I wrote and submitted this short nonsense rhyme this morning. 

Deadline day was here,

And words were still unbendable.

The month had been quite drear

And wifi  undependable;


Thus Fancy sent the mind away

“Let me do it; hit the road.”

So Thinking took a short vacay,

And Fancy bore May’s load.


She quickly dove under the bed

Wrote this poem no-one expected

As I read, I shook my head.

Hope Mia won’t reject it.

Wednesday, May 01, 2024


 Today is deadline day in the Deadlines for Writers poetry group. The 4th poem of 2024, a sonnet or a villanelle, is due. I wrote a sonnet. 



A lonely child, rejected by the herd,

Seeks solace on the swings, her head held high.

She rises through the air, a seeking bird,

With wings outstretched and longing in her eye,


The sunlight warms her heart with its embrace;

And whispers, “Let’s be friends, just you and me!”

The friendly breezes kiss her hopeful face;

And she looks down -- sees mere humanity.


She’s striven for this courage all her life -

Now dons her armor, readies for attack.

No callous ugly names can cause her strife.

No one can call her less or hold her back.


New strength and joy beam from the cobalt sky.

“I’m someone!” she exults. “Just watch me fly!”

Wednesday, April 03, 2024

An Ode to Purple Days

 Poem #03 for 2024 is due today addressing the prompt "Purple." Here is my entry - a sonnet about those dreary, dark, and cloudy Purple Days. 

On purple days the dawn breaks indigo.

No burning orange glows in the Eastern sky.

No vibrant red or gold engage the eye;

Just mystery clothed in violet manteau.


On purple days, the air is heather-hued,

Providing mood for heart and mind to roam,

‘Til calm and wisdom find in us a home,

And souls can rest in royal solitude.


The frantic pace brought on by bright displays

Recedes on pure transforming purple days.

Wednesday, March 06, 2024

Three Haiku (on Grief)

 Poetry Deadline #2 for 2024 is today. The assignment was to write three Haiku on one theme. 

I wrote on "grief."

Grief is no clear pane.

It’s a toy kaleidoscope –

With endless faces.


Grief storms my defense.

Now released, rivers of tears

Bring peace as they flow.


Allow tears their course.

Rolling down the face, they cleanse,

Washing grief away.

Wednesday, February 07, 2024

Three Limericks "The End"

 The first poem of 2024 was due today. I had written three limericks on the prompt "the end." I had a hard time deciding which to submit. I finally submitted the first two below.  


A lonely young writer from Creekbend

Wrote himself up a best friend.

Oh the fun that they had

‘Til one day he got mad

Killed his pal with a scribbled “The End.”


A lonely young novelist from Creekbend

Wrote himself up a best friend.

But when the writer felt scorned,

A short story was born

As he angrily scribbled “The End.”


A lonely young novelist from Creekbend

Wrote himself up a best friend.

But on the tenth page

He exploded in rage,

Killed his pal with a violent “The End.”

Wednesday, December 06, 2023

Remembered Thrills - A Poem

Today is the deadline for the last poem of 2023 in Deadlines for Writers. The prompt is "Thrill."  I found this a hard topic and ended up writing my poem late yesterday, determined to just have an entry, however lame, to submit. In late life, few people are still the thrill-seekers they might have been in their younger days. 

Remembered Thrills

It comes to me sometimes in my dreams -

Memory of carefree youth.

When life was all challenge and thrill and risk,

And death was intangible truth.


No dare was too great for omnipotent me -

No mountain too tall to climb;

No ocean or cavern too deep to explore

And be home before dinnertime.


“Fear? What’s fear? You’re kidding me, right?

It’s not too dark out there!”

I always believed if it came to that,

I could easily outrun a bear!


I no longer need a thrill a day.

I’m happy to dream thrills instead,

I don’t have to prove I’m alive anymore.

I take all my risks here in bed.

Wednesday, November 29, 2023

The Cost of Living

The last short story in the Deadlines for Writers Short Story group is due today. The prompt is "price" with a wordcount of exactly 300 words. Here is my entry. 

The Cost of Living

If there was anything Marti had learned in her twelve years of the chaos that was her homelife, it was that everything has a price. If she wanted supper, the cost was obeying Daddy’s drunken directives quickly and without giving him “any mouth.” If she wanted to go to sleep at night, she had to give away a little of her reasoning power and believe that the yelling she could hear, AGAIN, through the wall of her bedroom, was just the television.  Protecting her little brother had cost Marti a few false confessions and the enduring of punishments he had earned. She sometimes had to spend a little of her integrity and pretend to be at the library working on a project when she needed time with her friends.

Now, holding her hastily-packed bag in one hand and Billy’s hand in the other, Marti stood knee deep in the creek beyond the woods. The stinging skin on her behind and the ache in her jaw was beginning to numb now that they had almost outrun the echo of the back door banging like a gunshot behind them.

Marti and her little brother turned to look at the orange glow they’d left behind. Above the trees, smoke billowed up almost blocking the big glowing zero moon in the night sky.

“Are we going to Grandma’s?” Billy looked at Marti, wide-eyed with fear, but trusting.

“Mama will pick us up there when she gets off work,” Marti affirmed.

Having paid the price for their freedom, the children stood in silence. Devoid of any external comfort or human sound, the silence was deafening. Still Marti could hear the echo of her father’s last words on Earth, as belt in hand, he growled, “Stop crying like a baby, Girl! Just buck up and take it!”