A Fresh Start

Hope is the physician of each misery. ~Irish Proverb

We kick off new years with hope in our hearts,
Promising ourselves this one will be fine.
But always there remain the unseen darts
From the previous year that made us whine.
Shrug off past misery; try a new line;
This is the time for a fresh burst of hope!
We’ve more than shown that we’re able to cope.
As new growth springs from the cold ground below,
Don’t look for someone to throw you a rope.
You can do this. Just go with what you know.

Note: Happy 2021! This poetry form is Dizain, a style 15th and 16th Century French poets were fond of. It consists of one 10-line stanza, with 10 syllables per line in an ababbccdcd rhyming scheme.

 

Hungry Hawk

When the stomach is full the heart is glad. ~Dutch proverb

Here I sit, watching and waiting

For something to move in the field.

I’m not choosy; I’m not rating.

Whatever moves will be my yield.

The corn is gone and all revealed:

Tender mouse, squirrel, and bunny.

Oh happy day, the bell just pealed,

Dinner is served and it’s yummy!

Note: Poetry form is Huitain.

Happy B-day, Mom

Grown don’t mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What’s that supposed to mean? In my heart it don’t mean a thing. ~Toni Morrison, Beloved, 1987

Mom–
The one
Who loves us
In spite of our
Flaws and prickliness.
The one who gave us life
And sacrificed her own hopes
To keep us happy, safe, and clean.
How can we ever thank her enough?
But perhaps she doesn’t need repayment.

Note: This poetic form is an Etheree. Today is my mom’s birthday (I won’t say how many!). Happy B-day, Mom!

Royalty at Last

Every tooth in a man’s head is more valuable than a diamond. ~Miguel de Cervantes, Spanish writer

A few days ago, I was brushing my teeth when I felt something small and hard in my mouth.

Fearing the worst, I spit it into the sink: yep, it was part of a filling from one of my bottom back molars.

Continue reading

Fairy Tale Love

When I am with you, the only place I want to be is closer.  ~Author Unknown

I know I’m only just a toad

And not the frog that maidens kiss.

Aware I tote a heavy load

When looking for my special miss.

I’m not cuddly and then there’s this:

I’m plain as you can surely see.

Still, where’s a toad to find his bliss

If no one wants to embrace me?

Note: This poetic form is called Huitain. It’s my first try at this French form with 8 lines (per poem or stanza), and 8-10 syllables per line (consistent within the poem) in a rhyming scheme of ababbcbc.

Don’t You Hate Computer Problems?

Technology… is a queer thing. It brings you great gifts with one hand, and it stabs you in the back with the other. ~C.P. Snow, English novelist and physical chemist

I like to think I’m somewhat tech-savvy.

I’ve been using a computer for decades, and I work in web design; however, recently an “issue” has cropped up that I’m helpless at resolving.

I asked Domer when he was home this last time, but he didn’t know — either what was causing it or how to fix it.

I’m hoping my colleagues online can come to the rescue.

Continue reading

Dog-eat-Dog World?

God gives every bird its food, but He does not throw it into its nest.  ~J.G. Holland, American novelist and poet

Recently, I heard a raucous jabbering outside my window and naturally, I had to take a peek.

Some people would claim that’s procrastination, that I was merely postponing the writing of my novel.

I know better: it’s an innate curiosity about the world around me, something every writer needs.

Continue reading

Hot Stuff

You never really learn to swear until you learn to drive. ~Author Unknown

Think you’re hot stuff, don’cha?

Zipping around in your souped-up car

Shimmering silver body, slightly elevated rear

Muffler announcing your presence better

Than trumpets proclaiming royalty’s arrival.

Think you’re hot stuff, don’cha?

Baseball cap turned backwards on your head

Heavy metal music pounding its rhythmic beats

With wailing vocals sufficiently intense

To pry the dead right out of their graves.

Think you’re hot stuff, don’cha?

Pulling to within inches of my rear bumper

As if you’re eager to hop in my back seat

And join me for a little spin around town.

Refusing to move over to another lane

Even when I deliberately slow to a crawl.

Think you’re hot stuff, don’cha?

Forcing me to change lanes

Forcing me to lose my temper

While you swoop around me

As if I’m in a car park or some driveway

Woolgathering or taking a siesta.

Think you’re hot stuff, don’cha?

Approaching that traffic light beside me

Then flipping me the universal sign

Of disdain. Of anger. Of disrespect.

Then zooming off in a cloud of exhaust.

I can be as crude as you, fella

But I choose not to

Not because of you

But because of me.

Still think you’re hot stuff, don’cha?

Note: Details changed to protect the guilty.