Friday SPAM Poetry Prompt #629

Welcome to the first in a regular series of Friday postings–the SPAM poetry prompt of the week. I started saving weird subject lines from SPAM and PHISH e-mails when F&W established a program wherein we review a daily list of blocked e-mails to see if any need to be un-blocked. Since I oversee four different company mailboxes, that’s a lot of SPAM. Of course, some of the wording really is colorful, so I started saving choice subject lines in a Word document with the thought that I would someday make up poetry prompts from them.

 

That day has arrived. Each Friday I will post one of these prompts. Here are some general guidelines:

 

1) Prompts are simply to get you going. Don’t feel you have to stick to the wording, directions, or spirit of the prompt if your writing begins to take you in a different direction.

 

2) If you don’t like my “take” on the prompt, make up your own!

 

3) Do not post your poems in comments if you hope to submit them for publication or as entries in a poetry contest. My view (see Published is Published below), shared by many poetry editors and contest coordinators/judges, is that poems posted in “comments” are considered published. Whether you agree or disagree, consider whether this is really the venue where you want to share you work.

 

4) I promise to subject myself to–er, try to create something from these prompts as well.

 

If this all turns out to be one miserable exercise in lame-isity, I will stop. Polite comments will suffice; threats and petitions will not be necessary.

 

So, here goes with prompt #1:

 

Don’t want no short sausage man.

 

Yeah, we know what they’re really talking about. But let’s regard this statement literally, i.e., don’t want no short man selling sausage. Why not? Who is he? What does he look like? Where is he selling the sausage? In a butcher shop? At a festival concession stand? On a street corner? Why don’t you “want” him? What don’t you want him to do? 

 

After you’ve thought about it (or not–thinking too much can be the bane of creativity), try using this line as the start of a nursery rhyme, nonsense verse, or blues poem. Or simply follow your free-writing and see where it takes you.

 

–Nancy

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36 thoughts on “Friday SPAM Poetry Prompt #629

  1. Susan Schoeffield

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    Hint: http://paul-lockett.co.uk/morse.html

  2. Sandy Dickson

    Farewell Poet challenge #30 April 30, 2009

    Farewell to you, Old Man Winter,
    I have so longed for you to go.
    Take your cold, ice and frigid temps,
    And yes, even your pretty snow.

    Your forthcoming robs the trees’ leaves
    And turns the near world bare and void.
    Your chilly breath descends–invades
    Leaving those who love warmth annoyed.

    You try to disguise your evil
    Under cloaks of glistening beauty,
    But we northerners recognize
    And see through your double duty.

    Now you are forced to step aside
    To a much fairer time of year,
    For which even the birds return
    And welcome with song and cheer.

    The whole world seems to celebrate
    I’m not sure if it’s your demise,
    Or just the welcoming of spring,
    And the beauty unto its eyes.

    Either way, it’s long awaited,
    As we’re watching it develop,
    Savoring its signs and wonders,
    And feeling its warmth envelop.

    Farewell–go to Australia now;
    We’re glad to see you take a hike.
    There are ski enthusiasts there
    And you can stay there if you like!

    Sandy Dickson

  3. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge #29 April 29, 2009

    Never a Waste

    Never consider it is a waste
    To strive toward a certain, dreamed for goal.
    Though no measure of satisfaction
    May come from it, it’s good for the soul.

    For there’s never been a man who strove
    Toward honesty, truth and sincere deeds,
    Whose efforts were wasted endeavors,
    Failing to meet at least somone’s needs.

    Sandy Dickson

  4. Sandy Dickson

    Challenge # 26 4-26-2009 Miscommunication

    Miss Communication

    She was the office bigshot;
    She was there when I started.
    She assigned the office jobs,
    Till weary ones departed.

    She was to instruct new ones
    Which she only did part way,
    Leaving out important steps
    So she’d appear more than they.

    They would look incompetent.
    And she’d get the chance to shine.
    She’d gloat of it and the boss
    Didn’t see her undermine.

    He’d not believe her victims,
    He thought her ethics were right.
    But then he sold the business
    And the buyer was more bright,

    Also wise to this worker,
    She’d worked with Miss C before.
    Asked other employees there
    Opinions and furthermore,

    Did they think Miss C’s been fair?
    She wanted to know it all.
    She drew the same conclusion
    And that was Miss C’s downfall.

    Miss C was let go pronto,
    For little had she forseen
    Some day down the road somewhere
    It would catch up to be mean.

    Now Miss C is job hunting
    But reputation preceeds.
    It’s not working well for her,
    No matter how hard she pleads.

    Stabbing others in the back
    For one’s own validation
    Doesn’t work–that’s why she’s called
    "Miss Communication."

    Sandy Dickson

  5. Sandy Dickson

    Poet chal #22 April 22, 2009-Work related
    Sandy Dickson

    Some folks love to stay busy

    She works at the newspaper as a reporter,
    Some of her days are long, while others seem shorter,
    She works at the hospital where she volunteers;
    That’s her relax time—she’s been doing it for years.
    But then when she goes home, there’s yard work to be done;
    Either shoveling snow or mowing in summer’s sun.
    She washes the car, she takes care of the laundry,
    She cleans the house in a continual quandary
    As to how things get messed up when she’s rarely home,
    Yet manages to find time to visit by phone.
    She emails and writes too, to keep up with her friends,
    Who don’t have computers, but when her long day ends,
    She goes to bed and dreams—never a dreamless night,
    But she works in them too, though finds them a delight.

  6. Sandy Dickson

    Whoops. I think I posted the haiku as challenge #22 and it’s only #21. I guess you figured that out, but just wanted to be sure it didn’t count against me!

    Haiku 3/7/4 syllables
    Sandy Dickson

    Animals
    relish living off the land
    But people don’t.

    Haiku 3/7/5 syllables

    Mountains stand
    High above their counterparts
    Hills are babies.

  7. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge # 22
    Sandy Dickson

    Haiku 3/7/4

    Animals
    relish living off the land
    But people don’t.

    Haiku 3/7/5

    Mountains stand
    High above their counterparts
    Hills are babies.

  8. Sandy Dickson

    Rebirth Challenge # 20 Rebirth

    Rebirth
    Sandy Dickson

    It’s somewhat sad when leaves have to die in the fall,
    After just being reborn the previous spring
    In the triumph my favorite season’s rebirth,
    Heralded by the happy songs the feathered sing.

    It’s sad the leaves and flowers don’t get to live long,
    And when they die, rob squirrels and birds their privacy,
    While the view appears dry, brown, barren and forlorn
    So of their rebirth, the whole near world seems happy.

    Birds build nests to prepare for the birth of their young
    Busy squirrels stay more hidden with leaves resurgence,
    All hail the arrival of new blossoms and growth;
    Even flowers grace the land with their re-emergence.

    Like welcoming the victorious homecoming,
    Of a sports team deserving hearty accolades,
    Spring’s rebirth comes with enthusiastic salute,
    From all near creatures welcoming another page.

    Good-bye to ice and snow, cold and hibernation,
    Bees soon buzz to their nectar, bears to their berries,
    Humans plant flowers and are glad for their lawns to mow
    In exchange for the freedom and joy spring carries.

  9. Sandy Dickson

    Interaction Poetry challenge # 18- April 18, 2009 Interaction
    (It wouldn’t post yesterday)

    Sandy Dickson

    We depend on it for lots of things: for sustenance and sanity,
    For communication, love and joy, connection with humanity.
    Interaction is all-important; there are restaurants, stores, employment.
    We must interact for all of these, and for each scheduled appointment.

    We interact on phone and at home, and now, this electronic age,
    When we are using the computer, busily scrolling each site’s page.
    Some used to interact with letters, but now even those who did not
    Will communicate via email, or have e-bayed for things they got.

    Sports fans interact with the TV; yell tips or kudos for each play.
    They seem to think those folks can hear them, though players don’t do what fans say.
    We interact when we pay our bills, and God knows, when we pay taxes,
    And with each mailing and check we send; even when we send our faxes.

    Among our favorite interactions might be our body with our food.
    Which can establish our happiness, or alter behavior and mood.
    We interact with our families, and also with beloved pets,
    To whom we can express what we want, yet they’ll always give us their best.

    We can act crazy in such a way, folks won’t always understand us,
    So, choose not to interact with us, but pets rarely reprimand us.
    Interaction; part of daily life, even when no words are spoken,
    Is responsible for every deed; matters of hearts healed or broken.

    So throughout life there will be some things, even though unexpectedly
    Caused by interactions of someone, and accumulate collectively,
    That affect us all, some good, some bad; maybe the law of attraction,
    That brings the deeds of others to us, inspiring our interaction.

  10. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge # 17 April 17
    All I want is to be a blessing
    Sandy Dickson

    Life is rich and there are so many things to learn;
    To experience, see, do, say, give and leave behind.
    It’s said if we borrow something, to return it
    In better shape than what it was when we should find.

    Time is borrowed and we’re just tourists passing through,
    So why not give what we can along our life’s way?
    If everyone did that along his time’s journey,
    Think of what the world would have become by today:

    So much the better by lessons gleaned from the past;
    Things learned and corrected we’re privy to as heirs,
    Our forefathers left as treasures of gained wisdom,
    Rather than ignoring those mistakes that were theirs.

    I want to be healthy with joy and lots of time,
    So I can leave a legacy through what I write,
    Or things I might do to make others’ lives better—
    It could be a moment, a day, but something right,

    That positively changes and makes a difference;
    Maybe even an impact that wouldn’t have been
    In someone’s life because my path touched them somehow,
    With meaning, even if just once and not again.

    And I want whatever I do to be pleasing
    To God, even through my example, words or deeds,
    Where I am an emissary for Him on earth,
    Fulfilling His will in serving other folks’ needs.

    In this way, I think my life’s purpose will be filled,
    He created me for something, and I’m guessing
    That it is to let people see Him shine through me,
    And they will if I can always be a blessing.

  11. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge # 16 April 16, 2009 (Catch-up)

    Yellow—or is it Green?
    Sandy Dickson

    When people ask me of my favorite color,
    I have to say, “It depends on what it’s on.”
    I like red cars but not necessarily
    Red fixtures like an appliance or a john.

    Orange is great and likewise for lime green,
    And hot pink—all great colors for a blouse,
    But some of those colors might not do well
    For a vehicle, a carpet or house.

    I do like them all, but I find I’m drawn
    To yellow for some things in my décor.
    It’s bright and happy; seems to be God’s choice
    For many good things like sunshine and shore,

    Where water laps the land of golden sands,
    And of course gold things are precious and sought;
    Fine jewels set in them, their virtues extolled,
    And for love expressed, many things are bought.

    For me, I like silver, but like to wake
    To gaze upon something happy and bright.
    So I have lots of yellow in my room,
    And love the way it makes all appear light.

    My favorite kitchen color is yellow,
    And I’m very partial to daisies too:
    White and yellow of course and quite simple.
    Nothing too fancy, just basic and true.

    Though I think dark green’s the best for carpet.
    It’s classy and warm, yet it’s not boring,
    I guess I like most colors, but I’ll check.
    I‘m still finding some new I’m exploring.

    (Sorry–22-hr day of wakedness yesterday gave me no time.
    Now I’m playing catch-up!)

  12. Sandy Dickson

    Skater of Ghost Lake – William Rose Benet

    Crater of Post Lake
    Sandy Dickson

    Post Lake is a park lake, a deep lake and old,
    Water black as charcoal dust clutched tight in its hold
    Deep in its shadows, faint sounds are heard,
    Could they be human cries or merely songs of bird?

    A soft, yet desperate sound, a thunk, a crying
    Sometimes it sounds as though someone might be dying.
    They fly from the shadows through water thawed or frozen,
    They sound like one regretting the lake they had chosen.

    For outing chosers on Post Lake aren’t aware
    Of the hidden dangers of all the posts in there.
    Under water they lurk waiting for each boat,
    But no one can see them because these posts don’t float.

    Inserted in a crater, anchored deep as an abyss,
    Those who make it out always remember this.
    No one knows just why, or by whom they came,
    Only that they’re something from, which one must refrain .

    Fish try to swim around them, divers have explored them,
    Yet the mystery seems to be no one can ignore them.
    The depth of the crater is unknown, but the posts run deep,
    Like a bottomless pit it is, with victims it claims to keep

    For the posts seem to club swimmers and skiers alike,
    Despair digresses to moans; wiser ones who hike,
    Hear them all the time, –the ones that know the most,
    They just smile and say, “There goes another post.”

    I realize this is extremely dumb, but a challenge is a challenge!

  13. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry challenge #13 April 13, 2009

    The ole stamp collection (Hobby)
    Sandy Dickson

    I was in about 7th grade,
    When a special interest caught my eye.
    I didn’t have many at first
    But decided I might as well try.

    I got on several mailing lists
    Where they sent me all sorts of stamps;
    Some colorful triangular ones,
    Or of their country’s leaders and champs.

    We didn’t have cool ones back then;
    Just presidents on retangulars.
    With only two colors at the most;
    And ever any cool angulars.

    I’d wished we’d get more pizzazzy,
    They didn’t change while I collected,
    Not before I outgrew my stamps,
    Which now sits on a shelf rejected.

    Sure, now we get much cooler stamps
    As Murphy’s law would always dictate,
    And if I still collected stamps,
    Look how long I would have had to wait!

    Yet it served its purpose for me,
    As I filled the stamp books with my time
    Matching the pictures with like stamps,
    Proud to call the endeavor all mine.

    But it served its purpose for me,
    Filled a lot of hours and passion,
    Kept me out of trouble, I think
    In somewhat productive-type fashion.

    Now I’ll pass it on to some kid
    Like I acquired it years ago,
    He’ll have bunch of old, plain stamps
    To start on his own and cause to grow.

  14. Sandy Dickson

    The ole stamp collection (Hobby)
    Poetry challenge #13
    April 13, 2009
    Sandy Dickson

    I was in about 7th grade,
    When a special interest caught my eye.
    I didn’t have many at first
    But decided I might as well try.

    I got on several mailing lists
    Where they sent me all sorts of stamps;
    Some pretty triangular ones,
    Or of their country’s leaders and champs.

    We didn’t have cool ones back then;
    Just presidents on retangulars.
    With only two colors at the most;
    And never any cool angulars.

    I wished we’d get more pizzazzy,
    They didn’t change while I collected,
    Not before I outgrew my stamp passion,
    Which now sits on a shelf rejected.

    Sure, now we get much cooler stamps
    As Murphy’s law would always dictate,
    And if I still collected stamps,
    Look how long I would have had to wait!

    Yet it served its purpose for me,
    As I filled the stamp books with my time
    Matching the pictures with like-stamps,
    Proud to call endeavor mine.

    Now I’ll pass it on to some kid
    Like I acquired it years ago,
    He’ll have bunch of old, plain stamps
    To start on his own and cause to grow.

  15. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge # 12- April 12, 2009: So we Decided to…

    So We Decided to…Pray
    Sandy Dickson

    We had been working hard the darned whole year through
    And decided we needed recreation
    So after much pondering and discussion,
    We knew just where we would take our vacation.

    I wanted a beach and he wanted mountains;
    Two opposing views, but we’d taken an oath,
    Then with a burst of brilliance we realized,
    God had created a few places with both.

    Some were coastal, but there were also rivers
    Inland, yet with sand expanses of shoreline,
    Where we could swim, hike, canoe and have both worlds;
    He could have his passion and I could have mine.

    We reserved a cabin and packed the car up,
    Empty nesters now, a honeymoon of sorts.
    Got there, unpacked, rustic but with a TV,
    Which we turned on and watched the weather reports.

    Outside the breeze seemed to be picking up some
    Though sure that nothing could shake our paradise,
    We stoked the fire as the weatherman announced
    Heavy rains were expected, river would rise.

    A few hours later, water was seeping
    Under the door and onto our cabin floor.
    With no way to stop it except to mop it,
    Soon there wasn’t even a fire anymore.

    Water was deeper now, ‘bout a foot, I’d say,
    And what we found under the sink, was a pail.
    But where could we throw the water we scooped up?
    Back out the door if we decided to bail?

    We couldn’t drive away to find a new place,
    And our neighbors had the same situation.
    So what we did is wade to the nearest hill.
    So much for a serene, joyous vacation.

    Watching from above, our car started to float.
    But we’d done what I’d always heard my Mom say,
    Crisis or not, there’s always One Who watches,
    And being strong believers, we knew to pray.

    Gratefully, the car’s path was blocked by tree,
    And once the rain stopped, the river did subside.
    We weren’t sure if the car would soon start again,
    But eventually it did, once things were dried.

    I can relate this; that things turned out okay,
    And we’ve memories of crisis triumphed through
    Or I’d not be here to tell all turned out well,
    But I think God heard, and His hand was there too.

  16. Mary Rudge

    OBJECT IS NOT MY OBJECTIVE
    In spite of my promise to only write love
    and love words
    your prompt is to write to the word
    "Object."
    We do, (I do) object to making love
    with an object in mind. I object to
    making one I love into
    an object and cannot be objective
    about love. I could write about a rock.
    That’s a solid substance. I always liked
    rocks. But would I really love
    to write about a rock?

    What would be the object, I ponder, of
    taking the wonder out of love
    with its ambiguous meanings and no
    boundaries –why does it seem so
    ordinary. I could write about a rock –
    a rock is an object, but love?
    Don’t write, I warned myself.
    You’re already in too deep water
    with love.
    Don’t rock the boat.

    Mary Rudge, Alameda, Ca
    maryrudge@aol.com

  17. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge # 11-Object

    Frying Pan

    Sandy Dickson

    She took the bacon slices—put them in the pan
    Though sometimes she fried apples; sometimes it was ham.
    The smell that wafted from it, whatever was there
    Brought them all to the kitchen, they were all aware.

    But that the familiar sizzle also that played a part,
    Somethin’ about things fryin’ that tugs at the heart.
    No matter how mad they were when they went to bed
    That pan could bring them runnin’ –new thoughts in their head.

    Many meals were shared from it, even ‘round campfires,
    When somethin’ ‘bout the outdoors aroused the desires
    For eating hardier then, even if things burned;
    Things one wouldn’t eat at home, but that hard work earned.

    Pitchin’ tents—tryin’ to fish, eatin’ what one caught,
    It always tasted better than the fish one bought.
    That pan is heavy iron—it’s better, they say,
    ‘Cause you get it in your blood—need it anyway.

    Now we use the microwave. It too, gets things done,
    But somehow it’s not the same as the memories won
    By that old iron skillet hanging on my wall,
    I dust it once-in-a-while, but that’s about all.

    In this fast-paced world it gets little use these days,
    But for a good ole breakfast it still finds its place,
    It still brings the family too, around the table,
    Beckons like I cannot, it’s always able.

    Mom is gone now, so is Dad; but I can still see
    Mom there with that frying pan for the family.
    Can almost smell the bacon and the eggs it fried,
    So now it’s in my kitchen dangling there with pride.

  18. Mary Rudge

    Prompt for Day 10, April 10,: Friday
    (corrected spelling)

    FRIDAY

    We called the puppy Friday
    so we could hug Friday,
    for freedom, playfulness
    all coming up —
    The Beatles had a Ruby Tuesday,
    but our Friday sparkles more,
    such a happy pup —
    we love Friday,he can do
    what we want to,
    lick and howl and jump and run,
    and wiggle all over
    with joy.

    Mary Rudge, Alameda, Ca
    maryrudge@aol.com

  19. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge #10 – April 10, 2009

    Fridays
    Sandy Dickson

    Fridays are welcomed by those in most circles,
    Unless, of course, one works on a weekend.
    Even Robinson Crusoe loved his Friday,
    Who was not only his butler, but friend.

    In larger societies are more reasons
    Because of many more people, it’s true,
    Who hail Fridays as much anticipated,
    As the gateway for better things to do.

    There are parties to attend, friends to visit,
    Or going to the occasional bar;
    No pressure to arise early the next day,
    And most everywhere is ‘come as you are.’

    Some Fridays seem made just to take off on trips,
    As a chance to leave the work days behind
    To something fun we’ve looked forward to all week,
    For the comfort, joy and respite we’ll find.

    They can be an early jump on a weekend,
    And most symbolize something of our choice,
    That we do because we want to, nothing more,
    And certainly not by the boss’s voice.

    Of course some are task-oriented at home;
    Lawn needs mowing, errands need to be run,
    Things need fixing as Murphy’s law would have it,
    Oh well, some Fridays aren’t really much fun!

  20. Mary Rudge

    Prompt for Thursday, April 9, Memory

    MEMORY

    I believed I’d love them always,
    and knew them very well
    — school champion —
    just tell me
    any word and I could spell.

    High School romance would vanish fast.
    The sports kids wouldn’t last
    I knew, — their days of team,
    and 50 yard dash medals just flash past!

    But, until I sent some Prompt-a-Day poems
    with some letters wrong, I never knew
    I could lose cherished words,
    my memory crash,
    leaving me just spell-check for a brain-cane.

    Oh memory! Oh, words! What can I do?

    I loved them all, and thought
    they would be mine forever.

    Mary Rudge, Alameda, Ca
    maryrudge@aol.com

    Note: I think this is also a lesson that I can’t write words right if I try to meet a deadline, and send out in the middle of the night..

  21. Sandy Dickson

    Winter Memories- Challenge #9 April 9, 2009 (Memories)
    Sandy Dickson

    We raced to the frost-covered window
    To see if there was any snow.
    If the world was white,
    It was our delight
    Even zero degrees or below!

    The big snows were so much the better,
    As we gathered ‘round the TV,
    Especially dazzled
    If school was cancelled;
    A whole day off for my sibs and me!

    Cheers went up as we donned our snowsuits,
    For a day of hard and fast play
    With snow fort to make
    And records to break
    Of our snowball vendettas to pay.

    Arsenals piled behind barriers
    Where snowballs were skillfully thrown.
    But there were amends
    And we all stayed friends;
    The next task couldn’t be done alone.

    Building that snowman was easier
    More hands make for more grandiose.
    This snowman would be
    The best yet –they’d see.
    Passersby would marvel, we supposed.

    Next, the nearest hill was beckoning,
    Where we would show up with our sleds
    For the best of thrills
    Mixed in with some spills,
    Until dark—the time every kid dreads,

    When we knew we had to pack them up,
    And head home, but it was okay;
    No reason to mope
    Because there was hope
    Tomorrow’d be another snow day.

  22. Sandy Dickson

    Winter Memories- Challenge #9 (Memories)
    Sandy Dickson

    We raced to the frost-covered windows
    To see if there was any snow.
    If the world was white,
    It was our delight–
    Even zero degrees or below!

    The big snows were so much the better,
    As we gathered ‘round the TV,
    Especially dazzled
    If school was cancelled;
    A whole day off for my sibs and me!

    Cheers went up as we donned our snowsuits,
    For a day of hard and fast play
    With snow fort to make
    And records to break
    Of our snowball vendettas to pay.

    Arsenals piled behind barriers
    Where snowballs were skillfully thrown.
    But there were amends
    And we all stayed friends;
    The next task couldn’t be done alone.

    Building that snowman was easier;
    More hands make for more grandiose.
    This snowman would be
    The best yet –they’d see.
    Passersby would marvel, we supposed.

    Next, the nearest hill was beckoning,
    Where we would show up with our sleds
    For the best of thrills
    Mixed in with some spills,
    Until dark—the time every kid dreads;

    When we knew we had to pack them up,
    And head home, but it was okay;
    No reason to mope
    Because there was hope
    Tomorrow’d be another snow day.

  23. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge #8 April 8, 2009

    Ho Hum
    Sandy Dickson

    Every day, wake up and go to the gym
    Then figure out where she will shop for clothes,
    Set her weary arms free of her parcels,
    Then decide where to go to lunch—who knows?

    And tonight’s bridge night again with the girls;
    She hopes the maid takes the card room to task,
    And makes the caviar pâté again,
    Is there enough champagne?—she’ll call and ask.

    On the agenda is the auto shop.
    Where she’s to take the Jag in for repair,
    But it’s right next to the mall anyway;
    Most of her afternoon will be spent there.

    While ‘cross town one gets up and goes to work;
    A bologna sandwich in her lunch pail,
    And wearing a same outfit from last week,
    Planning to go to the next thrift shop sale.

  24. Mary Rudge

    Prompt for Monday, April 6 "something missing"

    TELL ME THE ESTUARY DREAMS

    Tell me the estuary dreams of its depths
    the surface conceals desires of ancient salmon
    who believed this would be home always,
    spawning their centuries of fish and fish
    huge shapes the currents would caress,
    their underwater city shell and weed
    growing its mystic destiny,
    dissolved in "gone". Tall masted ships
    glided above, are mist now, memory:
    "Star of India", "Star of Italy", "Star of the Sea."
    Cargoes from Alaska and Hawaii,
    stalks of bananas, with tarantulas at home,
    whale seekers returning on the foam.
    Only song vibration left along the docks,
    movement of fin and tail as long as wave moves,
    sound waves, light waves, on eternal trail
    through space. Tell me old history, lost as dream.
    Tell me old history, elusive as water flow.

    Mary Rudge,Alameda, Ca.
    maryrudge@aol.com

    Two for Tuesday Prompts
    1. Clean poem
    2. Dirty poem

    (2) prompt 2

    DIRT POEM

    I am bored with dirt.
    I keep sweeping it up and sweeping it up,
    onto old newsprint that has its own kind of
    stories of the dirt in our lives –
    where do we put it all?
    It comes in window cracks, under doors,
    it is in the air, I am always washing clothes.
    Even outside the entire ground
    is dirt. My friends and I don’t turn on
    the TV anymore. We are all
    so bored with dirt.

    (1) prompt 1

    \NON-TRADITIONAL HAIKU
    ON CLEAN

    socks
    full of sunshine
    hung on the line.

    Mary Rudge,Alameda, Ca.
    maryrudge@aol.com

  25. Sandy Dickson

    The Nerve Poetry Challenge #7 (Insult) April 7, ‘09
    Sandy Dickson

    How dare you infringe so upon each of my days
    When your presence invades mine with sarcastic ways
    With nary a kind word; you only complain
    Of each thing you deem horrible and your life’s bane.
    You grumble of the heat and the sweat you’ve got,
    But yet when it cools, you bellyache that it’s not.
    You yammer of your job and the long drive to it,
    Threaten to quit—I bet others wish you’d do it.
    Some aren’t working and would be willing to trade,
    And they’d even line up in the wake that you made.
    You drain those around you ‘cause you’re always down.
    Your mouth seems to be bent in continual frown.
    All within earshot, you rob of joy and peace.
    Have you ever thought of the laments that would cease;
    And things change greatly—a piece of advice–
    If you minded your business and said something nice
    To those who tolerate your very essence?
    What do we want from you? Nothing but your absence.

  26. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge #5 April 5, 2009

    Who am I?
    Sandy Dickson

    It stands straight and tall like his stature,
    It’s strong and sturdy like he was too,
    Folks associate both with the same;
    With the colors of red, white and blue.

    It bears its image in reflection,
    Just as he has throughout history,
    It’s presence stately and majestic;
    Overt and hailed with no mystery.

    Well-known and widely noticed by all
    Who experience their presence or don’t,
    Whether their lives touched them directly,
    Or not, or they ever will or won’t.

    All who see Lincoln Memorial
    In pictures or person, remember it,
    Connect it with Lincoln’s legacy,
    Through time and deem it appropriate.

  27. Sandy Dickson

    Challenge #4 April 4, ’09
    Pig (in the Mansion)
    Sandy Dickson

    A pig figured out how to escape his pen,
    And entered the courtyard of a beautiful home.
    He soon found his way to the best of the mansion,
    And the stables, where he was also free to roam.

    He did all the same things he did in his own sty;
    He wallowed joyously in filth of the stable.
    Inside the mansion, he stuffed himself with garbage,
    Just being happy and thankful he was able.

    His owner saw he’d gone to the nearby mansion,
    And when the pig returned, the pig farmer passed him,
    So he stopped; “They say the homes of the wealthy
    Are filled with riches. What was it like?” he asked him.

    “Were there pearls and diamonds and spacious big rooms?
    Tell me—what did you see on your wandering spurt?”
    The pig said, “Nonsense, I saw no splendor at all.
    All I noticed was a bunch of garbage and dirt.”

  28. Sandy Dickson

    Poetry Challenge #3 April 3
    The Problem with Terrorists

    Sandy Dickson

    They lurk everywhere, some quite clandestine,
    Others more obvious, but all possessing
    Menacing traits that can ensnare us all;
    Some manage to woo us while keeping us guessing.

    Can they really be bad? They seem so good.
    Like Bernie Madoff, who made off with it all.
    Banks within our borders also guilty,
    But closer things can also cause our downfall.

    Our cupboards, laden with carbohydrates,
    With disguises unless we study labels,
    Cleverly touting ‘enrichment’–‘fiber,’
    Or ‘vitamins added,’ but were they able

    To give as much back as they took away?
    How many calories are in one serving?
    Yikes! One serving would scarcely fill a bird.
    Any human would deem he’s more deserving.

    Half a cup—or 12 chips is one helping—
    Two paltry cookies? They’ve got to be kidding.
    And who draws the line at one cup ice cream?
    It shouldn’t be: such claims as they are bidding.

    You know you could eat the bag of cookies
    Before you pull out of the grocery store lot.
    And the tiny pizza in your freezer:
    Supposed to serve four—is that right? You know NOT!

    And then to add insult to injury,
    You step into your own bathroom and once more,
    Assaulted again as it challenges:
    Your scale taunting you from its place on the floor.

    Dang terrorists!

  29. Barbara Clifford

    The Shy World

    Peering out the small bedroom window I watch
    Others saunter by laughing, running.
    Desperately longing to join, paralyzed by fear
    I am a prisoner in the shy world
    I dream, unable to act – hindered by self doubt
    I wait to be freed by another who holds the key
    To my insecurities.
    The shy girl watches, waits, dreams, and cries.

  30. Sandy Dickson

    April 2, 2009 (Challenge #2-Outsider)
    Sandy Dickson

    Perspective

    He’s always lonely for being loved,
    With just company of his own kind.
    Others shun him, he doesn’t know why
    He’s a thief, but doesn’t rob them blind.
    His justified portion is quite small,
    Yet he always has to watch his back.
    He can’t afford to let his guard down.
    And keen discretion he cannot lack.
    He has to be quick and agile too,
    At the same time; clever and stealthy,
    For one whose survival depends on
    Being slick and speedy, yet healthy.
    Why would anyone want to harm him,
    So little and cute?—he cannot tell,
    He only knows that every break-in
    He commits doesn’t always go well.
    Dangers lurk in household pets like cats,
    But it’s so warm living in a house.
    There’re also foods and hiding places
    Which don’t require much space for a mouse.

  31. Lisa J Parsons

    Friend
    My mind is dark
    I wish for the days of blankness
    Racing to the sound of wind
    Craving for sunshine
    Come back to me tomorrow
    or Today would do
    I still look for you
    All around
    waiting for that purr
    or smile
    My beliefs have been changed
    and I await
    our next meeting
    with anticipation
    sometimes it takes me over
    you are everywhere
    thank you

  32. Jacquelyn E. Scott

    Prayer

    Preien; praien; prier; precari; prithee; prex; rezo; verbum; Prayer

    Where did the word come from? When did it start?

    "In the beginning there was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God…"

    Did God first send a prayer to us?

  33. Phil Boiarski

    Tadpoles

    In the creek’s eddy,
    tadpoles hovered,
    helicopters in a
    syrup of clear water,
    flowing slowly
    round a corner,
    cup of stones.

    Currents create a
    transparent sheltered
    swirl there, where
    they gather
    for the taking.

    A jar of tadpoles,
    translucent,
    filled with organs
    and plumbing,
    pulsing life and
    changing, flick
    of the tail, quick

    day by day to
    bumps and legs
    extending, evolving
    until they must
    break the tension
    and surface for
    the first time.

  34. Louisa A Ritchotte

    To Say Goodbye (Maybe)

    He is just two years old
    his mom sick with cancer
    yet not that worried about
    her little man I cared for

    What do you think of the last
    six weeks and no one called
    or stopped by to see this child
    worried, yes I was worried

    I also was heart sick for him
    what should I do or do I say
    is it my place to step forward
    and say my peace to his parent

    I just wasn’t sure what to do
    so I looked to his grandmother
    and said, what will happen to him
    now that’s he going home

    She cried with me as we both wonder
    what will it take for the parent
    to realize that he needs some help
    before he starts school with his
    little friends

    You all know how that can be
    and how cruel children can be
    to others who may not be just
    like you or the other children

    That is a problem for many who
    don’t set the standard to be
    just like me or you
    well I’m sick with worry

    The child just doesn’t talk
    I worked till I said, he needs
    more help then I can give him
    he truly need to see a specialist

    It not so much a delay in speech
    but that he just isn’t able to
    get the word out without screaming
    in a language I do not understand

    It’s sad and yes I am worried.

  35. Garald Smalling

    Don’t want no short sausage man.
    I am you biggest fan
    Please let me give you a hand
    Don’t want no short sausage man.

    Put down that pan
    Pour in the sauce
    Slice it nice and fine
    Don’t want no short sausage man.

    I want you to know
    I muct go
    You cut too much
    out of the pan

    Don’t want no short sausage man.

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