Write an ode to someone or something you love. Bonus points for poetry! Daily post by Michelle W.
Trust is a given,
Boosting one to be striven.
Life full to the brim,
Joy no longer a whim.
Love beyond measure,
Finding your treasure.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/cupids-arrow/
Free Association, Home, soil and rain by Michelle W.
Rampant rain and sodden soil,
Provoke memories.
Ensconced at home listening,
Longing for the rain to begin.
Knees and joints ache with anticipation.
Gathering clouds menace teasingly.
Plants droop their heads in desperation,
Seeds wait in supplication.
Let the orchestration begin
Tin roof with timpani thrumming
Restoring growth and well-being
Inside and out.
Howl at the Moon. ‘Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness.’ Allen Ginsgerg
Do you follow Ginsberg’s advice– in your writing and/ or in your everyday life? Ben Huberman
Tony Bowring, art school days in the 1960s.
To a friend — freedom
Tony left, mercy be.
His worn body, set free,
A slow departure, body rent,
Breathing fraught, with discontent.
Finally he’s risen high,
Where he’s welcomed in the sky.
Rejoicing and much merriment,
Is now where he can be content.
My thoughts go to those left behind,
who miss his cheeky, creative mind.
His smile lighting up a room,
will for a time be left in gloom.
Thankfulness that he no longer lingers,
in that half world where disease fingers.
His joy at being free at last,
from stress and illness is a blast.
Time heals, is something to be learned,
for close ones of the unreturned.
Tony’s life will forever bring,
a smile to those where memories spring.
The day begins with sleeping in,
unless of course, there’s something on.
Snuggled up beneath feathers warm,
the winter’s day looks all forlorn.
Till fragments flit of last nights dream,
I rush to capture it on screen.
Memories scarper down the drain,
Temptation lurks, though from bed refrain.
Showering is a time of bliss,
Fruit, toast, prepared with coffee hiss.
Feed the fish and walk the dog,
Begin to think about my blog.
Write and read till hunger calls,
A sugo swift and pasta boils.
Again we start our meal with fruit,
keeps us primed and well to boot.
Weather fine, the garden calls.
Millie the dog brings her balls.
Weed and trim and plant some seeds
Epsom salts satiate citrus trees.
This belated autumn chore
brings fruit a plenty we adore.
Time has become an illusive thing,
as memory fades, fancies bring,
The mind plays tricks, that can be fun,
the day is gone before it’s begun.
Rare Medium: Describe a typical day in your life but do it in a medium you rarely use… Ben Huberman
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/rare-medium/
Staying with Grandma and Grandpa ( to be a picture book with poetry)
Grandma has eyes with drooping lids,
but she can see any naughty kids.
Her hair is fading with the sun,
all tied up in a plaited bun.
She likes to garden as we play,
kneeling beside a fuchsia spray.
The garden is our great delight,
where blue tongue lizards hide in fright.
Grandpa’s chin is a prickly one,
we walk each day so he’s not glum.
His glasses fog when rain pours down,
he doesn’t mind a shiny crown.
When we stay at our grandparent’s place,
Grandpa takes us to a playground space.
We walk and talk till Millie the dog,
barks for her tea, then home we jog.
Playing ‘Hats’ is a game we like,
if Grandma loses she hates her plight.
Grandpa teaches us many odd words
learning new things we’re undeterred.
We like hitting the tennis ball,
though Millie tries to stop it fall.
She chases it and does not tire,
we just give up and we retire.
Hide and seek is another game,
creepings up is a bit more tame.
Finding Grandma beneath the stair,
we always know she hides in there.
Grandma cooks our favourite food,
off to bed in such a good mood.
Showered, cleaned and stories read,
ready for sleep, tucked up in bed.
Possums fighting and crickets shriek,
Millie barks ‘till she falls asleep.
Imagine oceans, oh so breezy,
drifting off is easy peasy.
Next morning we discuss our dreams,
nightmares sometimes have made us scream.
In the morning they’re not so bad,
our Grandparents’ dreams are never sad.
‘Remember to control your dreams,
face your demon, he’ll stop midstream.
Your dreams become a place for friends
you’re in charge and your thoughts transcend.’
Grandma and Grandpa both agree,
their advice is for you and me.
Remember good things as you play,
and give thanks for them every day.
For anyone suffering the loss of a dog; especially ooohitsalyx who wrote on her blog about losing her dear dog. This poem is unapologetically emotive. It’s good to cry!
His Apologies 
Master, this is Thy servant. He is rising eight weeks old.
He is mainly Head and Tummy. His legs are uncontrolled.
But Thou hast forgiven his ugliness, and settled him on Thy knee…
Art Thou content with Thy Servant? He is very comfy with Thee.
Masteer, behold a sinner! He hath committed a wrong.
He hath defiled Thy Premises through being kept in too long.
Wherefore his nose has been rubbed in the dirt, and his self -respect has been bruised.
Master, pardon Thy sinner, and see he is properly loosed.
Master-again Thy Sinner! This that was once Thy Shoe,
He has found and taken and carried aside, as fitting matter to chew.
Now there is neither blacking not tongue, and the Housemaid has us in tow.
Master, remember Thy Servant is young, and tell her to let him go!
Master, extol Thy servant, he has met a most Worthy Foe!
There has been fighting all over the shop – and into the Shop also!
Till cruel umbrellas parted the strife (or I might have been chok-ing him yet).
But Thy Servant has had the Time of his Life – and now shall we call on the vet?
Master, behold Thy Servant! Strange children came to play.
And because they fought to caress him, Thy Servant wentedst away.
But now that the Little Beasts have gone, he has returned to see
(Brushed -with his Sunday collar on) what they left over from tea.
Master, pity Thy Servant! He is deaf and three parts blind.
He cannot catch Thy Commandments. He cannot read Thy Mind.
Oh, leave him not to his loneliness; nor make him that kitten’s scorn.
He hath had none other God than Thee since the year that he was born.
Lord, look down on Thy Servant! Bad things have come to pass.
There is no heat in the midday sun, nor health in the wayside grass.
His bones are full of an old disease – his torments run and increase.
Lord, make haste with Thy Lightnings and grant him a quick release!
Barbara Pyett 