Posted in blogaday, poetry

An Acrostic Internal Rhyme about Trust



   Assignment for WordPress class: prompt- using the form of  acrostic poetry   and the device is  Internal Rhyme 

(Please excuse the wily coyote format)

                                                                                             skinny face

Later or soon, I had to change my tune

Over from sadness to gladness then to

Veracity and tenacity

Ever, forever, is  love and trust, to believe in the good, I must, I must.


Journal prompt: study the terms acrostic poetry  and internal rhyming and see what you come up with.  Then try writing a poem using internal rhyming. Combine them.  Do you like to play with words or are you more interested in content?

Discussion: I am having so much fun learning new things in a WordPress class. Aren’t you just so interested?

Moral of the story: It’s never too late to learn about writing and creative expression!














Posted in blogaday, writers

Punctuation, Love it or Leave it!

                                     miscellaneous copy.jpg M

The prompt is all about punctuation. What do you think about punctuation?
This is the last post for the WordPress blogaday. It’s been great discipline and a wonderful way to meet new people.

Sometimes a rebel, sometimes a conformist, I accept the rules of formal grammar. It’s like street signs and taxes- there for a reason, we may not like such rules. “You have to know the rules in order to break them.”

I don’t think editors take kindly to poetic license and I’m not sure how most readers react. I think the general public will be irritated by grammar mistakes, typos, and non-conforming to basic rules. What do you think, as a reader?

My personal confession is a tiny OCD late night terror about the inevitable typo. I can’t seem to EVER be perfect and even when I read over what I’ve written, typos show up three days later. Sweat pours off my forehead and my shoulders tighten. Guilty as charged. I did that. I need an editor in the worst way. Even with a fine tooth comb, typos and punctuation errors show up like bugs.

There’s a scene from “Sex and the City” where Carrie hollers out that Big’s wife is so “stupid” because she misspelled a word. (I have such a great post about the characters in SATC-but you’ll have to wait).  People are judgmental- you can bank on it.

Back to the topic, the horror of a mistake is hell to pay for Type A’s.  I’m totally Type B, but I don’t like mistakes, especially my own.

Editors do the work of correcting punctuation. I want my copy to be perfect, but when left to my own slightly ADD combing process, I often can’t see the errors. My left eye is literally not so good.  I can still hear one of my undergraduate professors ranting about consistency, grammar, and APA writing guidelines. Cringe. Even my mistakes are creative.

victor blog

Here’s my punc poem.

Punc-chu-ation, it’s a situation.
Whatchu wanna know for, anyway?
Ya gotta do it right to see the light of day.
If you don’t do right,  you’ll be thrown out on your arse,
so pull up your britches! Your knowledge of grammar is too sparse.
Faulkner could bend the rules with Quentin’s ramble,
But he had the status to take the gamble.
I am ever-making boo boos and mistakes,
punctuation still gives me the shakes.
Commas, exclamation points, semi-colons, and colons,
are penned and placed, arranged, declared and stolen.
It is time to put them where they belong,
in order to keep the flow of the song.
Help me people, cuz I really, really want to know
editor,use this paltry sum, and clean my little show.

Until next time,

Hugs! With exclamation points.

Posted in blog challenge, blogaday

32nd Flavor and More!

Journal prompt A local ice cream parlor invites you to create a new wacky flavor. It needs to channel the very essence of your personality. What’s in it?

First of all, I never give my secrets away. I have a couple new flavors for you. Both aid digestion and are made without binders or preservatives. I have vegan choices if you want them. I have a little something for everybody. With me, you get freedom. My ice cream is the real deal.

I decided to be forgiving and not give you Sour Grapes. instead,  I offer  you Ginger Cream… refreshing, slightly wicked. The kids will love it. Tiny chunks of ginger make this flavor zing and zap.

For more mature audiences, I have Licorice Light. Comes in red and black. You’ve never tasted ice cream so good.

Want to try something new and exciting? Stand out from the crowd! Black Licorice is a standard old-timey favorite.  Cool and creamy. Delights the palate. It’s the best flavor out there and needs to be reintroduced to mainstream society. And just a reminder, all the greatest flavors have natural healing remedies. Shakes loose  those stuffy ol’ rigid blues.   Explore traditional  roots and add your own flair-transform habits into creative, courageous and bold innovations.

Thought you’d get only one flavor from a Gemini? With me, you get variety.

Blueberry Blast is coming next month. True blue is where it’s at.

 August’s flavor is  Honey Vanilla Ambrosia.

September is Espresso Mocha

October: Cranberry Cheesecake

And you heard it right here.

Until next time…

Posted in blog challenge, blogaday, earth friendly, journal prompts, spirituality, Writing for healing

The Scent and Moods of Mother Earth

Seasonal scents-The prompt is about the scent of summer. I’m doing a freer interpretation…this is a rough draft of my memoir in poetry.

Note: I changed tense in the middle of the poem deliberately…bare bones…
zen tree trunk copy

The earth is a woman.
When I was young the changing seasons reveled my senses.
Hard cold endless winter made brighter by the sun as she turned
my bedroom window gave way to
eager smells from the sometimes open screen bringing life in again
blooms open and trees turned
fields swelled up to the glorious greens.
My woman friend wears an endearing eau de fresh earth and bark.

The earth is a woman.
I roamed, I roamed.
Time tended the years, deliberately taking leave of the Southern Ohio balmy woods
I flew to Oakland to explore ivy laden hillside streets and alleyways to grand avenues.
Laced curtains billowed in bus filled streets as sociable angels on bikes dwelled with truth seekers and poets.
A student, lover, attendant, and mother, when the baby is a year old we make the northerly trek
to the mountains of my power days. Mountain woman walks with her friend.
My earthy friend is the duskiest most delicate sweetness and she never leaves me
when tears drop on the ground.

The earth is a woman
my companion is forever a sanctuary, her moods can be soft or rough or raging.
The scent is manzanita, water-kissed pine and redwood, deep and sturdy sphagnum oaks
hold me

in a funnel of comfort as I transformed from young woman to middle age.
Then, as gorges deepened in the meadow and trees fell, so did people and the lines
on my face, your odor is still as sweet as baby’s breath with new spring rain.
I cling to your wisdom, your stories, and searching, searching,
The children leave home all grown.
The summers roll on lovely and lavender, full of jasmine and rose.

The earth is a woman.
My man becomes discontent the quarrels erupt as plump, pregnant summers give birth to
wood-smoked fall. We adventure out, unsure, then make a plan
to move to the sparkled and bright-aura desert where my woman friend throws off
the sent of sage a turning couture of fashionable brevity. She offers newness-the
nascent wafting – sand after the monsoon, blossoms nudge rabbits to hop and lizards to dance.
The desert broom, mesquite and palo verde make a wreathe around my head
as creosote and ragweed change my sinus cavities

and his will to live. Heart surgery. Success.

the drops on creosote bush

The earth is a woman.
I am evolving faster than she, but still my soul opens in quiet gratitude.
Her  sensuous scent is a daily gift of ceremony, sunrise and sunset
accompanied by gaudy displays of color and drama.
How can you smell so darling and then so foul, as when a big saguaro decays?
Later I laugh only after squelching the memory of the nasty rot
Right in the front yard, the odor so bad, I thought there had been a murder in the neighborhood.
Could it be horse in death? No, a giant had fallen.
I become the aging woman, my earthen friend has shown me a thing or two.

the sajuaro silhoutte

She wins, hands down, but bellows out an uncharacteristic command.
I am she on whom you all stand. I feed you, console, bathe, give you lovely teas and coffees, fruits
and vines with bursting melons, medicines for your bruises.
But yet, you trample me, drill me, extract my blood and juice, attacking me.
Stop hurting me and raping me!

Tell your humans to stop.
If you do not stop I will send more hurricanes, and big earthquakes and I will
deliver a rage more devastating
than your puny, tainted interpretations of a wisdom you call ‘God.’
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the earth.
I’ve had enough now. I might leave you all behind, if you don’t change.
The earth is a woman.




Posted in blogaday, stream of consciousness writing

Offsides Memories-Super Bowl XX111

Blog challenge: Team USA is playing today in the soccer World Cup in Brazil. Do you have any funny/harrowing/interesting memories from a sporting event you attended, participated in, or watched?

I have lots of funny stories about my participation in sports but am not prepared to share them yet. Some of the best writing is sports writing. Talk about timing and detail. That, and car owner testimonials. People put their all into it, and it shows.

 Football caught my attention because of two men. My very first true love was a kicker in high school, and  my husband now is an avid watcher. I loved basketball and baseball. I enjoyed volleyball and swimming. But, if I had to choose, I’d take walking in nature over all of it.

The most exciting game EVER was the Super Bowl XXIII in 1989 when the 49ers beat the Bengals with 34 seconds left. Joe Montana threw a touchdown pass to John Taylor. Wow!

During the 49er heyday, I knew all the players and their bios-their astrological signs and marital status, where they were from etc. For about four years, legendary Joe Montana and phenom, Jerry Rice, and all the other fantastic players made the 49ers exciting beyond compare. Ronnie Lott was a dreamboat. Roger Craig, a great runner. Linebacker Bubba Paris, in another game (?) caught or intercepted a pass and I literally saw a huge bear with a surprised look on his face lumbering down the field to make a touchdown. Roaring good times. Tom Rathman was another imposing personality. I called him the Nebraska Farm Boy, because of his looks-as in cornfed. Steve Young used to make me have IBS when he ran backwards. Keena Turner. How can you forget such names? Sigh.

Haven’t been into football since. As they say, they just don’t make ’em  like that anymore. But, more likely, it’s because I’m not up with it all anymore.