So she said to me . . . I did it! I’m here in New York City, finally in the Easter Parade. Cost a bundle for the flight. But I looked out the plane’s window and saw the Archangel Gabriel. A real added plus to the trip. Couldn’t afford a real Easter bonnet so I resurrected my Christmas wreath. Tied it under my chin with pink ribbons, made it look more spring-like. Everyone said I just glowed. Best part of all, was the tinsel. It framed my face in a sparkly fringe!
NAPOWRIMO day 6! Today’s prompt: try writing with a breezy conversational tone, while including at least one thing that could only happen in a dream.
Image from Bing Create. And no, I didn’t get a phone call like this yesterday and I don’t know a Mabel. But if she was real, I suspect she’d be a lot of fun.
. . . eggs! Hens lay them, people abscond with them. Shelled with white and yellow insides, eggcellent when fully cooked.
Who among you drinks raw eggs? Holiday eggnog is not for me. Bourbon or rum added to nog? Never enough for me to imbibe!
Runny yolks pool on your plate, drip from your fork, require slurping to consume. That is definitely not for me!
Give me on-the-dry-side scrambled, well done frittatas, firm omlettes, or a good solid hard boiled egg. What can I say?
I’ve always been a firm handshake kind of gal.
NAPOWRIMO day 5!
The prompt today, for National Poetry Writing Month, is “to write a poem in which you talk about disliking something – particulary something utterly innocuous, like clover. Be over the top! Be a bit silly and overdramatic.”
I thought it appropriate to write about eggs today since that silly Easter bunny has presumably been hopping around leaving Easter eggs for so many folks.
Long-legged Lucy played with the boys, Barbies or baby dolls not her toys. Miniature soldiers marched in her room. Games with a ball, she really bloomed.
Grown up Lucy? A soccer star. Local legend, legs are her fame. Precision, passing and footwork her game. Pele’s bicycle kicks win acclaim.
Off season? You’d never guess. Third from the left in that famous line, a seasoned Rockette her kicks still shine.
NAPOWRIMO Day 3. April is National Poetrey Writing Month.
Prompt: “Write a poem in which a profession or vocation is described differently than it typically is considered to be.”
Confession: as a young girl, I always wanted to be a Rockette!
Mr. Goodbar and the Red Hots jazz like you’ve never heard it before!
The Sugar Babies, Twizzlers and Sweetarts let your imaginations think about that!
Mike & Ike serving the best hootch in town great way to cap your payday!
Leave the Missus at home or bring her along she’ll enjoy the Big Hunk struttin’ his stuff!
A bit-o-honey for everyone AT THE KIT KAT, WE NEVER DISAPPOINT!
It’s Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, I’m hosting and having a bit of fun with the prompt. I’ve listed names of twenty-seven candy bars and asked folks to create a poem that includes at least one of them in their poem. They’re free to include more than one from the list if they choose. If they select a candy with the word “bar” or “bars” in it, IE Oh Henry Bars, they can drop the word “bars/bar” — however, except for dropping that word, they must include the name of the candy exactly as it’s named in the prompt…no words in between etc. Can you find the candy bars I’ve included?
Image created on Bing Create. Candies I’ve included: Kit Kat, Mr. Goodbar, Red Hots, Sugar Babies, Twizzlers, Sweetarts, Mike & Ike, Payday, Big Hunk Bars, Bit-O-Honey
Rowan, Puss’ cousin, was the original one. He died on a cold winter’s night giving rise to number two, Tabby Tat. Nearsighted, she met her demise squinting down a busy street. Number three was Kit the Kat, catapulted to fame by a candy bar. Sugar highs and alley fights finally did him in. Mouser came next, not very smart, he followed a mouse into a trap and was last heard to say, oh crap! The next reincarnation came in a far away land. Penelope the Puma, sadly and cruelly killed by a hunter’s hand. Her ghost became the charming Ms. Cheetah, seduced to her death by a devilish Tom. Lorna the Lynx was up next. She lolled through life until her untimely death. And now if you’ve been counting with me we’ve come to the ninth penultimate life. That final reiteration, none other than Felicity Feline, intensely happy, true to her name. I am delighted to report, she found a happy home with the prolific painter, Mr. Louis Wain. Her portrait, painted in joyous colors, stands out in his collection. And so, while all those other eight are forgotten Felicity lives on in perpetuity, frozen in time, displayed on an easel, for generations to visit and see.
Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics on prompt where Melissa is introducing us to the English artist Louis Wain. He is “best known for his drawings of anthropomorphised cats. Born in Londin in 1860…he attended the West London School of Art, where he would go on to teach for a time….In 1884…The Illustrated London News was first to publish Wain’s art. It wasn’t until 1886 that he received more widespread recognition….he was elected president of the National Cat Club….he was a prolific artist. During his lifetime, he drew thousands of cats (it is estimated that the number exceeds 150,000.” Melissa asks us to choose one of his paintings/drawings she includes in her prompt, and to “write a poem inspired by the artwork. Simple enough, right? There’s just one catch – you may not use the word cat anywhere in your poem, including the title.”
I selected Wain’s painting, Untitled.
I had some fun with this….using many different words that refer to cats: puss, tabby, kit, mouser, puma, cheetah, tom, lynx, and feline. I also had some fun with wordplay, without using the word “cat” as in the Kit Kat candy bar, and catapulted.
Yes, the dish ran away with the spoon, but Mother Goose got it wrong. She laid an egg with this one. It was not a happily-ever-after tale.
Turns out the dish was a cad. A saucer with sterling designs, and always a cups man.
Young utensil that she was, she never guessed his real intention to tarnish her reputation.
He led her past the infamous cow the one who jumped over the moon. Romancing her under cover of night, surely, he thought, she’d swoon.
But alas, there were too many stars that night, revealing what he truly was really made of. Just cheap melamine, not Royal Doulton or Spode.
Avoiding every advance he dished out, she ran back to the cat and the fiddle. She maintained her sterling reputation, after all, she was always a respectable ladle!
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe where today is Open Link Night and poets may post any one poem of their choosing.
This little diddle is an edited version of NaPoWriMo’s day 22 prompt: “to write a poem in which two things have a fight. Two very unlikely things, if you can manage it. Like, maybe a comb and a spatula. Or a daffodil and a bag of potato chips. Or perhaps your two things could be linked somehow – like a rock and a hard place – and be utterly sick of being so joined. The possibilities are endless!”
For those of you not familiar with this Mother Goose nursery rhyme, it goes like this: Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon; The little dog laughed To see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon.
Mr. and Mrs. Tabby Cat sat down to have a very long chat. They’d just returned from quite a sail that really produced quite a tale.
They bravely decided to set afloat in what they thought was a sturdy boat. They left at night under a harvest moon only to be met by a horrific typhoon.
The seas roiled and got very rough, they soon decided they’d had enough. Now back home, they sat in a puddle whiskers rattled, feelings a muddle.
Boots came off, dropped with a plop. “What can we do so our spirits don’t flop?” “I’ll bake a pie,” said Mrs. Cat. “We’ll savor its scent then eat, until we’re quite content.”
Tummies full, their dreams so sweet and now this prompt is finally complete!
Image created in Bing Create.
This was quite a prompt for day 13 at NaPoWriMo! Yes, April is National Poetry Writing Month and the challenge is to write a poem every day.
Today’s involved prompt: create a word list that includes 5 words related to the senses, two concrete nouns, and two verbs. Then come up with a rhyming word for each of those 7 words! See my list below. And then, of course, write a poem using all those words, trying to include the rhyme in the poem! It’s what I call a sudoku prompt!
5 sense words chosen with they rhyming word sweet : complete for taste scent : content something you smell rough : enough for touch plop : flop a sound you can hear puddle : muddle something you can see
Two concrete nouns and their rhyming words cat : chat moon: typhoon
Two verbs and their rhyming word sail : tale float : boat
Sporting a Gibson girl hairstyle, always the first to beguile. She artfully arched her eyebrows, never intended for marriage vows.
Expelled from finishing school because she’d broken many a rule. Back at home with daddy dear, all his money was temptingly near.
She arose very early that particular day, absolutely not allowing any kind of delay. Murder weighed heavily on her crafty mind, the perfect crime, she’d cleverly designed.
Poison added to daddy’s cornflakes, doused all over his yummy pancakes. And wouldn’t you know, one glorious week later she was named the estate’s sole curator.
Grinning, she thought, no need for a suitor, and there’s no one that would possibly suit her. Now she’s contentedly ensconced, happily rich, fully independent and a liberated bitch.
Written for Day 10 of NaPoWriMo. Also using at OLN Thursday at dVerse.
I had so much fun with this one!
The challenge today was to “write a poem based on one of the curious headlines, cartoons, and other journalistic tidbits featured at Yesterday’s Print, where old new stays amusing, curious, and sometimes downright confusing.” The image above is from The Buffalo Times, New York, June 12, 1910. I think it might be an ad for breakfast cereal?
In the Good Ole Summertime . . . corn-on-the-cobify me . . . tomatocize me. Plop raspberries on my fingertips only to pop them one by one into my eager mouth. It’s garden fresh summerliciousness time!
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…and the palinode, written today…..
In the Crappy Fickle Spring . . . frozen dinner me or . . . chilly me with stewed tomatoes and black beans poured from tin cans. I love eating yet another chili supper, spoon by spoon, dripping on my well worn flannel shirt. I’d much rather nosh on bruised banana slices than fresh raspberries, tastebuds screaming their disappointment. Longing for summerlicious times? Not me. I absolutely adore this crappy fickle spring.
Written for dVerse today, where today, in the spirit of April 4th being National Tell a Lie Day, we’re to write a Palinode: a poem that contradicts or retracts something the poet has previously written. Today, in Boston, we’ve had snow, hail, and/or cold sleety rain all day. I imagine the daffodils are frozen in shock. And I for one, am tired of this year’s fickle spring!
lillian the home poet 