Work is the highlight of my retirement. I want to feel useful and productive. I like to see tangible, permanent results. Getting paid would also be nice.
learning How to write a poem
No comments on It’s all leisure time
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January in the writing world is beginning to feel like the first day back at fitness class when the room is full of new faces. In my enthusiasm to greet JanYourStory and the 80-hour edit, I forgot all about Just Jot January. Now in its twelfth year, JusJoJan offers daily prompts. I’ve missed the first two, but I’m just in time for Stream of Conscious Saturday’s words fast/slow.
I’ve noticed lately that weeks pass quickly but days pass slowly, especially the evenings when sunset is around 5 p.m. I write fast in the morning, but by lunch, my fingers slow and my brain feels empty. I spend the afternoon trying to edit or “napping for inspiration.”
What is your best writing time? Do challenges and prompts help you?
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Next week, I expect to release the print version of my procrastination collection (for my son’s 40th birthday). Meanwhile, Black Balloons is available as an e-book.
Coincidentally, here is a music video by my other son, “Another celebration.”
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Here’s to chestnuts on an open fire,
another holiday hoax, neither nutty
nor appealing, hardly worth peeling,
like seasonal romance shows,
unlikely love blossoming
under greeting card snow.So far I’ve spared myself and my family the annual agony of holiday romance shows. For me, the predictability of their old chestnut plots is agony. For my family, the torture is my sardonic laughter.
Inspired by the Word of the Day prompt.
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One unexpected event occurred in my life this year and has changed my routines and perspective.
A year ago, I was coping with my traditional seasonal gloom in the usual ways. I wrote on the themes of hope and light. I posted two translations in which light overcame the darkness. I made New Year’s resolutions and even accomplished some of them.
This year, nothing has tangibly improved in my life, and family health concerns have worsened. But one thing has changed. In July, my mother fell and broke her shoulder. Since then, we’ve been constant companions. I’ve gotten to know her more deeply. I’m dusting off my childhood memories, seeing them in a new light. My priorities have subtly shifted, and I’m taking a longer view of life.
Yesterday, I asked my mother what she’d like to be doing on her hundredth birthday, six and a half years from now. She said, “I expect to be active and still driving my car.”
None of us can predict the future, but we can expect the best in spite of the past. At the end of 2026, I expect to have completed a collection of poetry, two novels, and a speculative fiction anthology.
What do you expect for 2026? -
Following the hungry cat’s call,
I look out at the blurred back yard.
Blue-gray clouds form question marks
in yellow sky behind the trees.
My grumbles and groans turn to thanks
for the blank page of an unwritten day.Today I tried to write a tableau poem. Did I cheat?
The instructions on the dVerse prompt say, “5 beats/syllables per line.” I think only stressed syllables should count as a beat. Unfortunately, I’ve always had a poor sense of rhythm. When I used an online song syllable counter, the analysis showed that I wasn’t counting words like “the” and “at.”“following the hungry cat’s call,” 8 syllables
Stress Pattern: /◡///◡//Well, I’m not going to get stressed about it. I kind of like my poem.
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Inspired by the W3 prompt and Laundresses (Blanchisseuses) by Auguste Lepère
A young laundress river-
bound passes a crone
bearing bleached sheets
and thinks “for her shroud,”
proud of her strong legs,
her future shimmering
like the water, in her pity
forgetting her filthy load.The older woman glances
at the river’s flow.
Long ago, she dreamed
as she scrubbed, plump
arms rouging in the sun.
She thinks, “Enjoy your youth,
for soon it tatters and fades,”
then forgets her pity, happy
to be heading home.I found the writing on Auguste Lepère’s print “Jeunesse passe vite vertu!” confusing as a former French major. What did vertu mean in this context? Was it an admonition to behave properly? An encouragement like “courage” or “hang in there?”
What do you think? -
In the house, a peach-colored cat
jumps wildly at the glass door
and climbs the walls, stalking
peeper frogs and fireflies,
moths, Mayflies, ladybugs and lizards.Just before sunset, when the treetops
take on a peachy hue, rabbits appear
in spring, then summer foxes, autumn
deer in droves, an occasional skunk,
a possum or rare raccoon, and birds:the hidden ones that herald dawn,
three crows patrolling the fence,
a mockingbird boasting on the roof,
turkeys parading across a field,
and geese mending a puny gray sky.~~ ~~ ~~
Inspired by the Word of the Day and WordPress daily prompts.
In my childhood home, the expression “just peachy” was the sarcastic opposite of plain “peachy,” (which was good) and if we weren’t feeling well, we were “puny.”
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Sometimes, when referring to a well-educated person, my husband says “preparado como un pavo,” or prepared like a turkey, a mild joke in Colombia. Today, I looked it up online. There is a big difference between the definitions of AI, (artificial intelligence) and A-I (Alvaro Ibañez – actual Genius). My computer tells me that the expression means someone who is naïve, immature, or lacks intelligence. (like dindon in French) One dictionary says that pavo or turkey is slang for a stowaway or a person “who enters an event or rides in public transportation without paying,” a very large kite, “a man with many loves,” or “a man who lives from prostitution of women.” On the other hand, the same dictionary says that in some countries, a pavo is a wise and crafty person.
I’ll go with my husband’s interpretation because he makes the best turkey I’ve ever tasted. He starts preparing it with spices days in advance. The Advent of the Thanksgiving turkey is one of our cherished traditions that begins the season of preparation for Christmas.
How do you prepare for holidays and other important events?
Inspired by the Word of the Day challenge
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Have you noticed? In the moments
when you most need direction,
in the deepest woods, darkest nights,
on the winding roads where everything
looks just like where you were before,
suddenly, the big eye in the sky
blinks
the lighthouse goes dark
the compass spins
but you have to keep moving
looking for a familiar sight
a ray of light … Is it fate? Bad decisions?
A curse? A message from the universe?
And why do we say the signal is lost
when we are the ones
who don’t know our way?Inspired by the Procrastinators prompt.
....Bilocalalia.... 