Be my Lou for the day . . .

. . . remember that old song?
Of course you do. Sing it with me!
Skip to my Lou, my darlin’!

Let’s skip stones across a pond
and then, chalk in hand,
draw hopscotch on a sidewalk.
Later you can pour me a Scotch
and we’ll pour over old photo albums
laughing at our childhood antics.

A bit puckered out and perhaps tipsy too,
we’ll gawk at the stars, sitting on the stoop.
Stooped shoulders with a myriad of wrinkles.
Madeline L’Engle’s wrinkles in time
singing Skip to my Lou, my darlin’!
Oh let’s just skip the malarkey and admit it.

We’re septuagenarians in love with life!


Melissa has us zeugmatically speaking for today’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She explains, “zeugma is defined by Merriam-Webster as ‘a figure of speech in which a word applies to two others in different senses.’ Zeugma is a rhetorical device that is used to emphasize, add humor, or surprise a reader.” Hopefully, I’ve done this correctly with the words skip and pour. The words Scotch, stoop, and wrinkle are played with a bit here as well. Madeline L’Engle’s famous novel, A Wrinkle in Time, is also referenced . . . sort of!

The Rising Sun

Rising sun
creates shimmering shine
on the ocean’s surface.
A lone gull floats
illuminated in sun’s path,
as waves softly lap the shore.

I sit alone during dawn’s arrival,
in awe of what is unfolding.  
Above me, the sky’s bluing
gains brightness.
I smile and sigh in contentment,
thankful for another day.

Written for NaPoWriMo day 26. The the prompt is to “write a poem that involves alliteration, consonance, and assonance. Alliteration is the repetition of a particular consonant sound at the beginning of multiple words. Consonance is the repetition of consonant sounds elsewhere in multiple words, and assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds.”

Photo from some years back at our beloved Provincetown, on the very tip of Cape Cod. View as seen from our deck on the unit we rent every year for two glorious weeks in September.

Life is what it is . . .

So many questions I could ask myself.
Why this? Why that?
Why then? Why now?
Why not? Why me?

But those sound too much
like regrets.
I choose to live my life
without regrets.

Regrets indicate a desire
for change in the past.
One change a ripple makes
and then,

life would be different
somewhere along the path.
Life would be different now.
I like my now.

Written for day 25 of NaPoWriMo where the prompt is to “write a poem based on the “Proust Questionnaire,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and adapted by modern interviewers. You could choose to answer the whole questionnaire, and then write a poem based on your answers, answer just a few, or just write a poem that’s based on the questions.”

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

Time: the Conundrum

The future is beginning now.
When I arrive,
I am what was missing before.

Tomorrow always becomes
a yesterday. My past
was once unknown to me.

Time is after all, a glutton.
Best to concentrate on the moment,
every time it comes.

Written for NaPoWriMo day 24.

The prompt is to “write a poem that begins with a line from another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it.” “The future is beginning now” is from Mark Strand’s poem, The Babies, published in his Collected Poems published by Alfred A. Knopf in 2015. He is a former Poet Laureate of the United States and a Pulitzer Prize winner. Image is from Pixabay.com

Quit Complaining!

Oh . . . let it go!
Quit complaining about growing old.
I’m half-way through my septuagenarian years,
big deal!
If you divide life into seasons,
I’m probably long past autumn,
well into winter.  
Things I have on my must-do list,
goals to achieve,
to make my “mark” on the world?
 
So what if some of them don’t get done.
I’m happy I can bend over to pull on my galoshes!
Carless in Boston,
I leave footprints in the snow
walking to the store or to the doctor’s office.
Shows me I’m still here,
above ground.
I’ll bet I can still make snow angels.
I know I can –
you’d just have to help me get up.

Think of life as a merry-go-round,
concentrate on the merry part.
So we can’t climb up
to sit on the tallest horse anymore.
Let’s just sit in the carriage
the one with benches on both sides.
It goes around just as fast as the horse.
It just doesn’t go up and down anymore.
That’s us you know . . .
leveled out to enjoy the ride.


I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’ve provided a list of song titles about winter and cold weather. Writers must include at least two of the song titles from the list, within their poem, word for word. They can add punctuation between the words of the song title; or split the words over two lines (enjambment); but the titles must clearly be included in the body of the poem, word for word.

I’ve included three titles from the list in my poem: Let It Go, Winter Things, and Footprints in the Snow. Pub opens at 3 PM EST. Come join us!

Photo from Pixabay.com

A Little Ditty for a Gray November Day

Did you know
the sun is always shining,
even if behind a cloud?
Frowns can be turned upside down
into a smile, just by remembering that.
There is no distance looking blue,
when we walk barefoot
in dew kissed grass that tickles our feet.

Call me Pollyanna, many do,
because I choose to believe
there is no top to any steeple
if I make up my mind to climb.
Be it with strong legs
or, at my age,
a little blusher, mascara,
a pen, and a plethora of words.


Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah hosts and asks us to consider the poem November by Thomas Hood. One option in today’s prompt is to use a line from his poem and include it in our poem. I’ve chosen two lines from his poem: “No distance looking blue” and “No top to any steeple”. Image from Pixabay.com

The Ride

How many times around
life’s stationary wheel?
Eight times ten,
nine times ten?
Apex reached at twenty-five or fifty?
Maybe thirty and three-quarters?
Down cycle begins later, much later,
or maybe it did? Back then.
There should be a view from the top,
everything spread out in miniature
but recognizable.
Broken fulcrum invevitable,
timed entrance tickets do end.
Others clamor to get on, their turn.
What’s that saying?
We’re just along for the ride.

Photo taken in Warnemunde, Germany two days ago.

In the Midst of a Current . . .

time ebbs and flows
like sand sifting through a sieve
like advancing waves crashing,
rushing furiously to shore.

Emotions ebb and flow
as we journey through later years,
stopping to dally at sweet spots,
speeding through dangerous curves.

Humanity ebbs and flows around us.
People progressing forward,
while others try desperately to stall
and others slip backward to the way it was.

Much as we’d like to take control,
place wooden rulers across our lives
draw straight lines from point A to point B,
we all remain in a fluid path
as our lives continue to ebb and flow.

Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 22. Today we’re asked to write a poem that includes repetition.
Photo take some years ago when in Bermuda.

The Septuagenarian

Society’s expectations?
She doesn’t give two hoots
about being who she’s not.

It’s taken her a while to get there,
seven decades to be exact.
Wrinkle creams and hair dye be damned.

She wears flat shoes on every occasion,
air-dries her hair in all its grey glory
and orders dessert, which is mandatory.

Happily sleeveless when it’s hot,
just stare if you dare at her crepe-like skin
and notice her knees with those very high hems.

Stereotypical sayings are bantered about,
she’s older and wiser and been round the block
but look at her now as she picks her own route.

Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 15.
Today we’re asked to “write a poem about something you have absolutely no interest in.”
We’re invited “to investigate some of the ‘why’ behind resolutely not giving two hoots about something.”
Although my poem is written in third person, this is how I feel at seventy-five.