For Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday our prompt is “more than a hundred”
How to I love thee?
Let me count the ways
I love you like the flower
loves the sun’s bright rays
I love you with my very soul
and I’ll love you all my days
between my heart and yours
many words lose their way
Just how many are there
I have often wondered
I may not know the total
but, it’s more than a hundred
I’ll have to say I love you in a song ~ Jim Croce
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP
For dVerse Meeting at the Bar – our host today is Björn who asks us to try our hands at “verbing”
Smoke snaking across the sky
puddling into blood-red haze
tabling my irritation for a time
I quickly google what’s ablaze
Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer ~ Nat King Cole
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP
Lillian is the host of Open Link Night on dVerse Poets Pub and one of her sayings is “Normal” is a setting on a dryer.(lillian) Which got me to thinking about my own sayings that I use a LOT right now. One of which is: “Average is a mathematical equation; normal is an illusion.” (JPP). So in honor of all the times people have said to me “this is the new normal” only to hear “normal is an illusion” I give you …
Normal Magic
They call it the new normal
for me it’s another day
of masks and social distance
and, really, that’s Okay
Normal never did mean
all that much to me
it’s just a grand illusion
whose source I cannot see
So I walk my path alone
isolation’s not so tough
for I have magic in my veins
and for me that’s quite enough
Secret Garden – Nocturne (Lyric Video) ft. Anne Takle
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP
Kim881 from Writing in North Norfolk, is our host for this week’s Haibun Monday
“For this challenge, I ask you to think about your own birthdays, ones from the past, one that is coming up, a memorable one, or one you are dreading. Whether it’s birthday cake and balloons, a quiet glass of wine on your own that turned into something memorable, or a complete disaster, I’d like you to share a birthday with us.”
Birthday Magic
Born on a cusp with an aura of blue, a child between signs. Always looking for where she fit in. Black and orange confetti, fairy costumes and pumpkins as happy children dance around the cake table. A birthday wish for magic and a pony.
Birthdays come and birthdays go. Her aura darkens as does the world. No dinner, no parties, nowhere that she fits in. No need to hide her blackened eye. Alone, she makes her birthday wish for magic and love.
Moons wax and wane as life goes on. She finds love again, and trust. Purple and black decorations, a pointy hat adorned with flowers, love and laughter. Amber eyes twinkle with merriment. No need for birthday wishes, she has all she needs, she IS magic.
Candle burning bright
years come and go by too fast
blow the candle out
Strange Magic — ELO
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP
For Linda’s One Liner Wednesday — For all of us struggling to process and adjust to the “new normal” of 2020.
“My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.”
~Virginia Woolf
Mirage — Lindsey Stirling
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
Our host a dVerse Poets Pub Tuesday Poetics is Laura Bloomsbury, who asks us for our flights of fancy. The following is based on a real life observation of a nesting pair of Great Horned Owls who were being tormented by a scold of very noisy jays. One of the adult owls defiantly lured the jays away and suddenly turned on them, snatching one unwitting fellow right out of the air.
Flight of Fancy/Dance of Death
Whump, whump, whump the air throbs
under the assault of massive wings
three powerful strokes and he is aloft
master of the thermals
He dips one wing in silent condolence
to the pitiful flightless things below
while defiantly flying straight
into the scold of jays, and through
He climbs ever higher, taunting
inconsequential forms of lesser birds
that fall behind in the chase
still jeering they cluster … until
Pivoting on one wing, he falls
with sharp talons and flared wings
like an avenging angel set to smite
their relentless taunting
A silent cloud of black feathers
announces his success
Fly Like an Eagle — Steve Miller Band
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
Our Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt is “check/cheque/Czech.” Use one, use ’em all, use ’em any way you’d like. Have fun!
The view out my window is pretty typical of this summer. An odd checkerboard of bright green and straw tan grass, mottled patches where the rain has not reached or hail has damaged. It’s rather odd to my mind how even though I spend considerably more time at home this summer, there are still more empty boxes on my to do list than there are checks. I’m missing the summer days of checked tablecloths and carry out fried chicken.
My new metaphor for “weird and crazy” has become “2020” as in “do not ring the door bell, dogs will bark, I will yell and things will go all kinds of 2020.” Or, “Do NOT make me go all 2020 on your a**.” The humorous applications are endless.
All that aside, life is all about checks and balances, and I know that eventually the pendulum will swing back. For now, I’m going to check another item off my list.
Check Yes or No — George Strait
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
For dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night. This has been a crazy summer, from pandemics to devastating hail storms. There is a moment before the storm hits when you can almost feel the sky holding her breath … waiting. This summer feels like that to me, as we deal with rising death rates, more lock downs; I’m holding my breath, waiting. The air is moist and oppressive, lightning startling in it’s beauty and power. I don’t know how this will all turn out, but I know this; the sky is always clearer after the storm.
July
July came marching in sultry cadence
as heat rises and skies darken
for a moment all is still
a breeze caresses my cheek
scented with lingering traces
of bar-b-que, sunscreen and sweat
heavy with petrichor and promise
The wind begins to sing
through high tension wires
trees sway in a frantic dance
holding fast to precious leaves
cloth billows and strains
in air heavy with moisture
the scent of roses … and magic
Black cloud castles
remain still and unmoved
anchored to the blue sky
and the lightning begins
I wonder what the storm
will leave in it’s wake
but for now, I watch
and wait
Shelter from the Storm — Bob Dylan
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
For Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday
Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt is “link.” Use it as a noun or a verb; use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
I’ve been distracted lately. Overwhelmed is more like it. If you want to witness some definitive examples of whacked out human behavior, try working in a recreational venue, in a tourist town, in the midst of a pandemic. The lock down has been lifted, people are pouring in with no visible concern for safety precautions, like it’s all over. Meanwhile the exposure and death rates continue to rise. Laughter is forced, tempers are short, and common courtesy has been lost in the frenetic scramble to have “fun.” Combine this with hotter than normal weather, several damaging hail storms and this normally gentle land is a tinder box of dry prairie grass just waiting for a spark.
With so many of the outer planets in retrograde, it’s really a crazy time for emotionally driven individuals and HSP’s such as myself. The link between anger, aggression, general weirdness and the pandemic and retrogrades I’m sure is strong but what the answer is eludes me. So for now I’ll be staying in as much as possible while concentrating on emotional detox and healing, shielding and grounding. If I can’t break the link, perhaps I can loosen the chain.
The Chain — Fleetwood Mac
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
“I came, I saw, I left early”
~ Every Spoonie I’ve ever known at a “function”
For Linda’s One Liner Wednesday
The “Holiday” is nearly upon us, time to batten down the hatches and ride out the storm of inevitable sensory overload. We’ll be staying in here at Chez Spoons it’s just too peopley out there!
Counting Flowers on the Wall ~Nancy Sinatra
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP
