Thursday, September 29, 2011

Another water animal poem


If I was turned into an animal,
I’d like to be a monkey,
spry and nimble
with a long tail,
swinging from tree to tree.
snitching shiny objects
from unsuspecting tourists.
Now, rising from my nap,
I feel like a manatee,
a big cumbersome cushion-like animal,
drifting in the water aimlessly
going nowhere,
mesmerized by nothing.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

The Narwhal
The narwhal’s a fellow
Who looks like a pillow
With a tooth up to ten feet long
It’s shaped like a spiral
No it is not viral
In the Arctic he does belong

When he is an eater
A real bottom feeder
He dives deep beneath the thick ice
He’s mottled and paler
Looks like a drowned sailor
Besides that, he is rather nice

Tuesday, September 27, 2011



Blue skies, warm sun, the brilliant leaves of autumn,
I often wish they would always be the norm.
Then rain taps out a rhythm, thunder a drum.
There is something exciting about a storm.

No deadlines, no troubles, no stress, no delays,
I crave tranquility to fill all my days.
But goals, dreams and adventure cause me to thrive.
Noise, problems and pressure prove I am alive.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Vanessa's ninth anniversary with us

Ninth Anniversary with Vanessa

She greets you like a long-lost friend.
Her hugs and smiles have no end.
Her gut-level laugh will lift your spirit.
It gives you joy when you hear it.

She likes to tease and punch playfully.
Slapstick humor fills her with glee.
So if you drop something or burn your fingers,
At your expense, her laugh lingers.

Typical American, she likes her stuff.
She never seems to have enough.
She carries it around like a wheel barrow.
Even though her wheel chairs’ a little narrow.

She has enough stuffed animals to start a store.
But she always seems to have room for more.
Her shirts number about one hundred-twenty.
She’ll only wear three despite having plenty.

She likes to talk to her sister on the phone.
She likes to watch TV when she’s home.
She likes opening the afternoon mail.
She likes shopping and things on sale.

She’s non verbal but talks all the time.
She remembers things and keeps things in line.
If you need a smile or to have some fun,
Look to Vanessa, she’s the one.

September 25, 2011 Sunday Poetic Bloomings old time trinkets

This photo is from a past age
Once they see my face on this page
They’ll gossip, conspire,
Brand me a vampire
Like they did to Nicholas Cage.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Morning Psalm

Jet Plane

J esus, I’m sick of rejecting Your blessings, Your presence, Your wisdom through a low self
E steem. Give me eyes to see and ears to hear what You have for me and how
T o live my life that I may be able to learn, grow and increase.

P lease, help me accomplish and succeed in all You want me to do in all areas of my life.
L et me have a positive and encouraging attitude. I pray that I will be a strength to people
A nd build them up rather than be a weight to them.
N ow, Father make me a jet air plane not a lead balloon.
E ach day may I honor and glorify Your name in all I think, say and do.

September 23 ,2011 Poetic Asides Prose Poem Challenge

Guilty Pleasure
When all seven of us sat around our red and white kitchen table,
there was barely enough room for any of us to move. Mom, nearest
the stove got up often, serving usually fish or wild game and garden-
grown vegetables. I, nearest the dish cupboard, was the designated dish
or silverware retriever when an extra was needed. We’d say please pass
this or that and use towels instead of napkins. We’d chat about our day
and Dad would talk about the Pittsburg Pirates or Steelers, hunting
and fishing or gardening. When Dad would burp, Mom asked,
“What do you say, Jim?” And he’d say, “Buuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!”
and his five girls giggled. When done eating, we’d each ask to be
excused and we’d leave one by one, except for Dad, of course,
who did whatever he wanted. Mom and I were usually the last ones
to leave. I ate more slowly than my sisters and Mom always had
a late start. She’d take some extra time, especially with spaghetti.
She’d reheat it because she liked it hot. She’d twirl it around her fork
and sometimes assist a stray strand with a piece of butter bread.
She’d close her eyes, savoring slowly, making yummy noises
and saying how good it was, but she knew she wasn’t supposed
to eat it, being diabetic. It was a guilty pleasure—one of the few
things she did for herself despite it being bad for her…or was it?

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Poetic Asides Prompt begin with another poet's line

After Eleanor Jewett

To him with the heart for the seeing of things
God’s mercy is discerned
In a baby’s trust
Rain for the unjust
In His forgiveness to proud hearts turned

To him with the heart for the seeing of things
God’s grace is clearly seen
In the sun and the clouds
In the farmer’s plow
And even in the lowly string bean

To him with the heart for the seeing of things
God’s love is evident
In the mother’s will
In the night so still
On the cross where Jesus was spent

Monday, September 19, 2011

BD Prompt Use words: masculine, feminine, body, mind

Creative Creation

The feminine nature’s a mystery.
The masculine psyche is plain to see.
Their bodies suit each other’s needs.
Only God’s mind understands how this succeeds.

Baker's Dozen Language/Nationality

Poet Speak

P aints pictures with words and uses “poem” as a verb.
O ften counts syllables. Determines sound and
E motional value of words. Perturbed when an editor
T hrows off the meter. Likes to capture life’s fragments.

S ees everything as a metaphor, enjoys symbolism.
P assionate about free verse or forms.
E namoured with details.  Hunts “thises, thats,”
A nd passive verbs like a hunter after wild game.
K nows there’s plenty in a name.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Poetic Bloomings Prompt Surprise

Don’t Be Surprised

Don’t be surprised to hear a monster roar
Sounding like it’s coming through the door
Growling, snarling like a grizzly bear
Catching you completely unaware
Or maybe more like a wild boar

An earthquake shaking you to the core
Or a rumbling train rattling roof to floor
Or a dragon coming from its lair
Don’t be surprised

Curtailing fear may be a chore
With a sound so great, you can’t ignore
 I tell you this because I care
This is something I must share
It’s only Pops and his nightly snore
Don’t be surprised

September 17, 2011 Saturday Free

Steady Stream

I realized as she talked and talked,
her husband, hard of hearing,
merely watched her mouth move.
She rarely took a breath and
after three days she didn’t’ ask me,
or anyone else, one question.
When someone did comment,
she rarely acknowledged it.
She’s like a radio or TV,
droning on with no interaction.
You can at least sing with a radio
or yell and throw something at TV.
It’s awful to feel alone when
you’re with someone. I pray
no one ever feels that way
when they’re with me,
especially my family.

September 16, 2011 Friday

Get This!

You need to get this,
really get this.
God fights your battles.
You don’t have to be perfect,
obsess about botching up,
tizz in terror at your own ineptness
worry about disasters of your own making.
You don’t have to be intimidated
by judgmental, self-righteous people.
Trust as you pray.
Set your mind to obey.
Do the best you can.
He will make things okay, or if
He doesn’t, He’ll work
the messes out for your good.
You are learning and growing,
a work in progress.
You are not and never will be perfect,
in this life.
You are a diamond in the rough,
  but God sees you as a flawless
through the lens of Christ’s sacrifice.

September 15, 2011 Thursday

Not Adopted

My father-in-law’s eighty- one year old wife
told me she was half Choctaw Indian,
but I had forgotten by the time she showed photos
of some of her forty great-grandchildren.
One toddler’s hair was jet black
and I asked if he was adopted.
She looked at me as if I were dense.
“No, not adopted. Choctaw!”
I kind of back pedaled a little bit,
trying to smooth any ruffled feathers,
saying how my own mother’s hair
and complexion were dark.
She pointed to a photo on the wall,
a raven-haired beauty—
herself in younger years
before her hair had turned white,
her skin sallow,
hiding her Choctaw heritage,
her beautiful Choctaw heritage.

September 14, 2011 Wednesday PA Prompt Fortune Cookie

Reality Bites

The perfect one approaches
Wild dreams are coming true,
But for those at the next table,
Unfortunately, not for you

You’ll plod from day to day
There’ll be good times, also bad
Times you’ll be ecstatic
And occasions, oh so, sad

There’ll be rough years and smooth
And age will take its tolls
So forget the fortune cookies
And enjoy the juicy egg rolls

Monday, September 12, 2011

BD prompt teasng


They called her Baby Huey
and quacked at her.
She’d come home from school,
crying. Her highschool years,
a misery.
They called her sister
Baby Huey
and quacked at her.
At first she shied away
like her older sister,
but then, epiphany—
“They’re the weird ones,
not me.”
She met their stares evenly
and spoke to them with civility.
Eventually they forgot to quack.
Self-respect acted as a shield.

Bakers Dozen wordle: tonight, miniature, create, explore, rust

Tonight is after today
for the hour is miniature
which creates a problem
I would explore but
my mind’s beginning to rust.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Poetic Bloomings prompt Wishful, Young Dreamers


As they cuddle there
by the lake
to  the tune of crickets,
gentle lapping waves,
and quacking ducks,
he thinks of the stars in her eyes,
her soft, silky skin
the glistening of her dark hair, not
her nagging him to take out the trash,
pantyhose hanging on the curtain rod
or PMS.
She thinks of his deep, baby blues,
the strength of his shoulders,
the warmth of his body against hers, not
Monday night football games,
belches in front of company
shoes to underwear scattered
 throughout the house.
That’s why, my dear children,
there’s such thing as

Inspired from attending recent writers conference

Writers  Guild

For writers camaraderie
I’d travel far and wide
For none but other writers know
What’s going on inside

Our thoughts come out our fingertips
And on to the white screen
To make our readers feel and think
And see what we have seen

We challenge, comfort, educate
Paint beauty with our words
While isolated in our homes
And often feel like nerds

It’s fun to be with those who care
Where we put our commas
And see the value of our work
Comedies to dramas

To others, writers may seem strange
A whacky, quirky bunch
So that is why it’s such a joy
When we are out to lunch!

Baker's Dozen Friday Prompt Animals

Three Puppies

The three roly-poly puppies
One black, one brown, one white
Bound up and down on little legs
They growl with puppy might

They greet you with their rough, pink tongues
They nibble on your nose
They lick your neck and cuddle up
Then pee upon your clothes

They chew each other’s tails and ears
And tumble in a heap
But tire soon and snuggle up
And then fall fast asleep

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Baker's Dozen prompt Cento--poem consisting of other poets' lines

Morning Celebration

The sky rejoices in the morning’s birth
He sings each song twice over
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance
Ne’er saw I, never felt a calm so deep
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you
--Connie Peters

There was a Roaring in the Wind William Wordsworth The sky rejoices in the morning’s birth
Home-Thoughts From Abroad Robert Browning He sings each song twice over
Ye Stars Lord Byron Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
Daffodils William Wordsworth Tossing their heads in sprightly dance
Upon Westminister Bridge William Wordsworth Ne’er saw I, never felt a calm so deep
The Rhodora By Ralph Waldo Emerson The self-same Power that brought me there brought you

The Skirmishing of Sound

There was a roaring in the wind
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
Fifty different sharps and flats
This charm is wasted on earth and sky

--Lori Peters (my daughter who dictated this over the phone)

William Wordsworth, Lewis Carol, William Wordsworth, Robert Browning, Ralph Waldo Emerson

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Poetic Asides prompt Remix old poem

My original poem:

Walking in the Rain

Enjoying the dramatic cloud paintings,
chilled but exhilarated.
Glad to relive childhood experiences
when walking in the rain was a common thing.
Pelted by hail, but not minding.
Half wishing someone would offer a ride,
but knowing I’d refuse one, anyway.
Entering our property the back way.
Coming in dripping wet,
changing into warm, dry clothes
and brushing my wet, tangled hair,
A little disappointed at my family’s lack of concern,
but most of all thankful for walking in the rain.

Remix (Nove Otto from Poetic Bloomings)

Walking in the Rain

Dramatic clouds paint the slate sky
Walking in rainstorm feeling high
Memories near from childhood days
Hail pelts me but I do not mind
A ride may come from someone kind
But I’d refuse it anyways
Home, I brush my tangled, wet hair  
Stung, my family shows no care
But my childlike rainy joy stays

Poetic Bloomings Nove Ottoe form/ Baker's Dozen quirky person

With bald head and nose like a beak
And they say she has lots of cheek
Her sixty years were less than grand
Signs of childhood abuse remain
An accident damaged her brain
She most always will lend a hand
She’s smart as a whip but she’s odd
But not too eccentric for God
For she shows she knows Him first hand

Monday, September 5, 2011

Baker's Dozen Prompt Labor Day

Labor Day Thanksgiving Poem

I thank You God for all who work each day
They make our lives much easier and sane
For preachers who teach us the better way
For artists, writers, all who entertain

For doctors, nurses, and all in health care
For teachers who can help our kids succeed
For those from innovation to repair
For lawyers, advocates and those who plead

For fire fighters, soldiers and police
For those who grow our food or own a store
For those who guide and lead and keep the peace
For all these services and so much more

Through all these people’s eyes and feet and hands
You show Your love to all throughout the lands

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Poetic Bloomings Title and Deed Prompt

Why We Write

It could be we’re gluttons for punishment;
we enjoy hearing not quite right, try again.
It could be we’re too shy to speak
so it comes out in some literary form.
Perhaps we’ve nothing better to do
like some people seem to think.
Or maybe God has given us more time
than He has given other people since
that’s the biggest excuse not to write.
Or maybe we think it’s just plain fun
to make tangible the intangible
to move, motivate, inspire, incite
encourage, entertain, help, heal,
teach, taunt, tantalize, turn things around
or just to make someone laugh.
Or maybe there really is a writing bug
that crawls around biting the unsuspecting.

Poets & Writers “Why We Write” Laurie Rachkus Uttich

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Free Prompt

My Life

Like a brown toad
Nothing glamorous
Plain and bumpy
Accomplishes little
And, oh, so short

Friday, September 2, 2011

Baker's Dozen Prompt--Object poem

Paints and Brushes

They’re calling me from the cupboard—
no, not chocolates this time—
my paintbrushes and acrylics
longing to be held, guided, glided
across the page, doing their dance,
delighting in reds, oranges, yellows,
greens, blues, purples, making tangible
the beauty and emotion of a slice of life.
They’re waiting for me to value them
enough to put in the time and effort
to let them live.

Thursday, September 1, 2011