What’s Lurking

My daughter took Beginning Writers Workshop without telling me last year.  One of the things she particularly valued was the message that good topics and interesting writing existed inside each one of us, just waiting to come out.   Yes, good writing would take work and practice, but she liked the idea of trusting that good stuff was in there.  And it was.

When she finally told me which of the short creative pieces was hers, I could see what she meant.  It was a small story about trying to put molding around a window, screwing it up over and over, and how she and her lover dealt with her frustration.  Small topic!  And yet, upon reflection, it was one of the most touching love stories I’ve read in a long time.  She hadn’t started out to write a love story, but that’s what came out.  She’d started out by writing something that was really bugging her—those dang window moldings.  Some revisions and connections later, true love lay its quiet hands on her words. 

It occurs to me that things like Ouija Poetry and Poems of the Day are also like this.  We just write and see what’s in there.  It’s not so much a journal as it is an exploration with our favorite paints and brush–the words and the page.  So how about a new Poem of the Day from you all?  (Zelda and I appear to be on the same wavelength.) Here’s mine to remind you to feel free to write poorly!


Poem of the Day, 050609

I have all kinds of music on my computer

I use it like a rope tow

Riding it up the mountain each day

Helping me cruise along and enjoy the view

Rather than get crabby about working.

But it does tend to lure me into the bushes

Where I have fun writing on the blog or emailing.

That’s the trouble with computers—

they let you do so much.

I do love it so.  Like Patton,

I am willingly addicted to the combat,

the struggle with the words, knowing they mean something.

It’s a wrestling match, and I need to pin them to the page

and see if they stick. 

It occurs to me that movies often add music to war.

But not typically Elvis singing “Don’t Be Cruel.”

Perhaps that’s wrestling music.

135 responses to “What’s Lurking

  1. Every night, it eludes me.
    Dancing lithely, delicately pirouetting
    Just beyond my grasp.
    So sweet
    Still I’m not permitted to taste… not yet.
    Watching, it spirals around me.
    Closing my eyes
    I can feel it
    I know it’s coming… although
    The matter of when is still concealed.
    Nevertheless it will come.
    Wrapping its bindings so snugly all around.
    Bearing heavily down on me
    Damp and cloying.
    Caressing my skin so seductively.
    Delicious, rich,
    It massages itself into my essence.
    It lays fingers on me
    Thick as honey
    Ultimately relinquishing itself so lovingly
    Into my eager embrace
    Instinctively unwinding, I am exultant.
    For slumber has finally favored me,
    And at long last I drown
    In the ocean of my dreams.

    • Perhaps you should TEACH a writing class rather than enroll in one. Sheesh. You rock! And I was offering you encouragement (oops).

      I love your poem. You captured how elusive sleep can be; your words are flowing and bursting with meaning. You’ve raised the bar for the rest of us; I better quit goofing around and get serious.

      I want more! There’s no limit to the number of submissions we can post here so treat us to more if you feel the urge.

  2. Sabrina, Wow…………

  3. …Another Grover Haiku…

    Misty Spring morning~
    Lilac scent hangs in the air~
    My dog stops to shit.

    • Nobody can accuse you of mincing words.

      When reality hits, as writers, we’re obliged to tell it like it is. You did that without hesitation and I applaud you for that. Oh. Thanks for the chuckle also. 🙂

  4. Oh, Maureen! Your haiku speaks to me.
    Thanks for the good laugh (albeit suppressed – I’m sitting at work).

  5. Okay, maybe I’ll do a more pleasant one now! Yes, Sabrina, that is good writing. (I think I’ll go take a nap…)
    But first

    Dreaming of Today

    Staring mutely
    Lilac blossoms dripping sweetness
    Remember stopping
    bundled, bundled,
    shivering still
    Staring at these same buds frozen
    longing for
    they day they’d open
    Winter cold seems deep,
    Stronger than hope,
    But look! It fades,
    (like everything)
    Succumbing to
    the Strength of Spring.
    All things pass —
    an enduring truth —
    These lovely flowers
    living proof!


    • You forgot to mention the dog. Didn’t he…you know…or not on this walk?

      Your writing is as enduring as the overlapping seasons, and I’m certain that you won’t ever fade.

      Oh, and I hope you enjoyed your nap.

  6. Poem of the day 7May09

    Fun Zelda:
    “Beans, beans, good for your heart…”

    Serious Zelda:
    “Stop that! This is serious. You sound like a child. Jeez. Look at what Sabrina wrote. Now that’s poetry. We need to write something that will ‘wow’ people, not something childish.”

    Fun Zelda:
    Whispers. “Bean, beans…”

    Serious Zelda:
    “No, really. I’m serious. Now focus. Write something profound.”

    Fun Zelda:
    “Okay.” s-o-m-e-t-h-i-n-g-p-r-o-…

    Serious Zelda:

    Fun Zelda:
    Crosses arms and pouts. “Ann Linquist says it’s okay to write poorly.”

    Serious Zelda:
    “Well, if you want my opinion, Ann only tells us it’s okay to write poorly to make us feel better about our pathetic selves.”

    Fun Zelda:
    “Why are you in such a crabby mood today? You’re acting so old and wound up. I seem to remember you saying that you wanted to let go of our uptight side and embrace our fun-loving side.”

    Serious Zelda:
    “Yes. I said that. And I meant it. But clearly you’re not serious enough to write deep, meaningful poetry. Like Shaddy said, we have to stop goofing around.”

    Fun Zelda:
    Purses lips. “I’m not sure I want to play with you if everything is going to be serious and if everything we write has to be all deep and stuff.”

    Serious Zelda:
    “So, why don’t you just go off to your corner and write something happy and silly if you think it’s so important?”

    Fun Zelda:
    “I’m not in the mood.”

    Serious Zelda:
    “Oh, come on. Don’t sulk. Here, I’ll get you started: Beans, beans…”

    Fun Zelda:
    “No. You said that was stupid.”

    Serious Zelda:
    “I didn’t say it was stupid. I said it was childish.”

    Fun Zelda:

    Serious Zelda:
    “Well, I’m going to get some work done and maybe when you stop feeling sorry for yourself we can write something together.”

    Fun Zelda:
    Sits down heavily in the chair, turns away from Serious Zelda and whispers: “There once was a grouchy old writer…”

    Serious Zelda:
    Feigns to be engrossed in her work and suppresses a smile.

    Fun Zelda:
    “…whose muse walked out just to spite her.
    Then the writer cried out
    To her muse with a shout,
    Come back! You make my world brighter.”

    Serious Zelda:
    “You’re incorrigible.”

    Fun Zelda:
    “You don’t mean that. I make you laugh. That’s good.”

    Serious Zelda:
    “You do make me laugh.”

    Fun Zelda:
    “And you know we can write the deep stuff when we need to. We can also have fun, goof around, and play with words while we work towards being a serious writer.”

    Serious Zelda:
    “Yes, you’re right. Now, can we get some work done?”

    Fun Zelda:
    “Okay. I’ll be here waiting until you want to play some more.”

    • I love your fun side. Serious is good but fun is good too. Have at it! We need both.

      Beans, beans…who spilled the beans…

      We wrote of Peter Pan; why not write of Jack and the Beanstalk?

      Yes, yes. I read your words again. Your dialogue is a delightful read. You’re good!

  7. While I sneak in here,
    I’m getting paid to be an office manager
    But my work is caught up.
    Is it a sin to go where I’d rather be–
    Where naked words run to and fro
    And no one startles or dresses them up?

    This I may be as close as I ever get
    To being a paid writer.
    The good doctor is paying me to write
    And yet he’s never
    Laid eyes on my words
    Or even asked to see them.

    Should I pat myself on the back
    For being deceitful?
    For placing open patient folders
    Between me and my monitor
    To fool those who come near?

    Or would it be a sin
    To find idle work relating to my job,
    Instead of using a few minutes here
    And a few minutes there
    To create a meandering trail of words
    That will lift me up?

    I could straighten drawers,
    Clean the desktop or
    Shred some paper.
    Yet why not be creative
    When writing will inspire me
    To smile and give more of myself
    To those I see today.

    Ah, I’ve proven once again
    That to write is right
    And not to write is wrong
    And a sin.

    (Besides, Zelda’s doing it too).

  8. Ah, Tinkerbell
    is that you?
    My eyes are blurry at two-forty
    in the A.M.

    I rub my eyes
    and blink in disbelief.
    I’m confused.
    What took you so long?

    My heart pounds now.
    At long last, Tinkerbell
    has come for me,
    Peter Pan can’t be far behind.

    Oh Tinkerbell,
    fluttering against my window.
    It must be you,
    what else could this light be.

    Alas, my mind deceives,
    for my years are too many.
    I was hoping, Tinkerbell.
    I was hoping.

    I paced the floors,
    while watching the window.
    What is that blinking light
    glowing off and on.

    And then I see
    a tiny moving thing
    up and down
    and all around my window.

    I lay silent, disappointed
    and disheartened
    for I thought I’d be flying by now.
    Oh Tinkerbell, if only for a minute.

    Wide awake
    with most of my senses
    I see the blinking light
    and realize the truth this night.

    A lightening bug, I wonder
    too soon for the Spring
    has found my window tonight
    and has caused me fleeting hope.

    I’ll watch for you Tinkerbell.
    I’ll wait again tomorrow.
    Please land on my window
    and a bring me wings to fly.

    • You already have wings and you’re already flying.
      I read your post about BWW to my husband a couple of nights ago–he thought it was awesome and remembered your name from BWW. I cried as I read it to him and I’m not one who cries easily.
      He’s such a good listener. Unless I’m involved in it too, I can’t focus that well on what he tells me. Yet he remembers so much of what I share with him.
      He’s definitely a keeper.

    • Thanks for dropping in at my blog and for commenting as well. I love comments.

  9. Maureen, I love both of your poems and I agree with Shaddy, telling it like it is is definitely refreshing! And thanks to you and Zelda I’m sitting here at my desk trying to stifle the giggles that keep erupting from me. I’m smiling so much from laughing my face is getting sore!

    Zelda, I must say I agree with Shaddy (again.) I love your fun side… it sounds a lot like something my boyfriend or I might say…. hehe.

    And I feel for you, Shaddy. sitting at work is usually the time where I have little snippets of ideas and feel the need to escape the mediocrity of sitting in a cubical and drafting documents right and left for random people. Is there ever really a bad time to write?

  10. KathyH….


    I felt like I was watching the entire scene with my own eyes and feeling your hope and disappointment with you.

  11. Sabrina

    In response to your poem: Gulp. I mean, GULP. Those last two lines are wonderful.

    Shaddy: loved the image of naked words running about. Interesting thought. And I’m glad your good doctor pays you to come up with this stuff. The fact that he doesn’t know is irrelevant. (did I spell that word right?) Where in the world is my dictonary….

    Ann: “pinning the words to the page…and see if they stick”. Isn’t that the truth.

    Maureen: still smiling over your Haiku. I love it.

    ZeldaP: your “conversation poem” is so clever. And so true. I loved the line about “look what Sabrina wrote…”. Boy, don’t we all feel that way from time to time. Your muse sounds like a real character. A wild child.

    Now I must inform you all that I am not crazy. I got up this morning eager to tell you all what happened last night. With the lightening bug on my window. I won’t tell you how long I stayed awake, watching. I didn’t know what it was. Too early for lightening bugs! So that option didn’t enter my mind. I got nervous. I checked all the windows, thinking, is this light an alien from outer space? I knew it wasn’t lightening. I sniffed the air for smoke. Nope, nothing on fire. I walked out onto the front porch and waited. And waited. No light. By this time, it’s after 3 a.m. I’m wide awake. Still confused. That’s when I saw the lightening bug crawling on my window screen. And blinking. I got back in bed and thought to myself–well, I won’t say what I thought to myself. So this morning, I thought TINKERBELL! I’ll write about this untimely event that kept me from sleeping. So I thought, well, where shall I write it? Back in GA-Bugs? No, how about GA-Peter Pan. Peter Pan. Peter Pan? Then I see the new GA-Poetry. Well, I am not a poet. But I don’t have to tell you that. I show it loud and clear in my attempt in the post above. I just wanted you all to know I’m not crazy. I know we are not still on GA-Bugs and GA-Peter Pan. I just need alittle sleep….

    • What do you mean you’re not crazy! To be a writer, you have to be crazy–why else do we spend hours lining up words, then rearranging them, then knocking some down, then changing their spelling, and then often deleting every single one of them, only to start it all over again.

      Take a nap if you can, Maureen did.

  12. Early in the morning, not even close to dawn,
    I awake, rub my eyes and yawn.
    “Get up, get up, inspiration is nigh”
    I hear my muse in my ear and sigh.

    “Ok, Ok, I’ll go see what clicks,
    Maybe I’ll write about some good looking chicks.”
    But the eyes are old and blurry
    So to awake I’m not in a hurry.

    I plop at my desk and turn on the machine,
    All I get is a bright blue screen.
    I stare in disbelief, not tonight or this morning it seems,
    The demon inside has it’s own schemes.

    My wife walks in, “Oh, there you are, you retard,
    I thought maybe you were out in the yard.
    Remember the neighbors called the last time.
    The judge said mowing naked is a crime.”

    All this because of my muse
    Who loves to torture me and inflict abuse.
    Rides me hard to write a few words
    And “Don’t forget the rule of thirds”.

    So back to bed I go and shut my eyes,
    Say goodnight and my goodbyes.
    In the morning I’ll think this was all a dream,
    As I eat my Wheaties and chocolate ice cream.

    • Hey, Walk. You took the time to make your poem rhyme. I suspect Ann will give you extra credit for that.
      I’m glad you didn’t just toss and turn in bed, trying to ignore your muse. Thanks to the muse on the loose, I learned something from your poem–mowing naked is a no-no, even at midnight.
      [You make me laugh, you ‘tard.]

  13. I stuffed one hundred and sixty-five envelopes.
    I made eighty-two copies and sixteen pages of labels.
    Now is the time.
    I bring out the paper cutter with dread.
    I cringe with each rise of the lever,
    And exhale in a WHOOOSH as it falls.
    With each small grouping of papers I snatch,
    And cut with an aggravated grimace,
    I come closer and closer to accomplishing my task.
    The sweat is beginning to dew upon my forehead,
    making my bangs stick to my skin.
    Raising my hand up to swipe the persperation from my brow
    I wonder why its so warm in here.
    And as I lug the paper-cutter back to its resting place,
    I realize I have to stuff more paper into those hundred and sixty-five envelopes.
    My head starts to throb.
    I have to label them too.
    My hands reek of dusty paper and file folders,
    I glance sideways at the clock on my monitor and breathe a sigh of relief.
    It’s lunch time.
    And even though I have to return to my tedious responsibility for today,
    I get to float away for thirty free minutes.
    I get to visit my friends’ words of wisdom and humor,
    I get to let go of my thoughts and just be.
    And everyone is okay with that.
    And it feels good.
    It feels good to be encouraged and accepted.
    It feels good to write.
    It feels good to be me.

    • I’m feeling good cuz you feel good and I hope everyone here feels the same.
      My thought for the day is this: The gooder it gets, the better it feels.

      (Backing up a bit, Sabrina. You mentioned that when you were young, your writing was described as “desperate.” I wish you’d taken it as a compliment. Desperate writing sounds like something I’d love to get my hands on).

      I’m relieved you didn’t hurt yourself with that paper-cutting weapon. Any and all “paper cut screams” are mine. That’s a devious plug for my blog: http://www.papercutscreams.blogspot.com.

  14. You guys are makin me laff!

    If anyone needs me I’ll be out on the deck
    (If that’s okay with you, Gully!)
    getting drunk and slapping feebly at mosquitoes.


  15. Pulled from my blog:

    Ode To Pie Ala Mode

    How I love thee, my pie ala mode
    Your crust is golden, as if baked by the sun
    I’ll eat so much of you I just might explode
    Your filling is sweet, with cinnamon and apples
    Still warm from the oven, made by mother’s hands
    I should give thanks, where the chapel?
    Ice cream on top, Golden Vanilla Ice
    Melting into rivers that cascades into the plate.
    The first bite is delectable, full of everything nice
    What a wonderful fate to put on this weight.

    • Mmmm. You make it hard not to run out and buy a pie just to have a hint of what you’re writing about.
      I’m enjoying a root beer float as I sit here. Finally, we’ve had our fill of raspberries and ice cream.

    • I’m thinking we should all do pie ala mode odes!

  16. Okay, here’s what I want to know:

    * KathyH – what exactly did you think when you got back into bed that you’re not telling us?

    * Shaddy – if Zelda put salt on a paper cut would you do it, too?

    * Walk – wassup with the ice cream? And for breakfast, no less. Next thing we know you’ll be serving it with champagne!

    * maureen – you still out on the deck? Wait-up. I’ll join you for a night cap.

    * Sabrina – didya? Huh? Guess which Zelda is sitting on your right shoulder.

    * Ann – does it freak you out that your daughter took your class? That’s a great story. Did you have any idea at all? Was the writing familiar to you? Any hint? Any connection?

  17. Good grief! I turn my back for one minute and all blazes breaks out around here.

    Board the cruise ship tomorrow. Have unb, guys.

    Hugs, Gully

  18. Oh! She’s leaving us?
    Will you have a laptop on the ship?
    And what exactly is unb?
    Well, I hope she has a good time, anyway!

  19. Hey!
    It just occured to me —- some of these are NOT poems!

    • Hey. As members of the Goofing Around Gang, we’d be misbehaving if we followed directions all of the time.
      The stuff I write that I call poems are really nothing more than sentences written in a form that mimics verses of poetry. Shhhhh! Don’t tell anyone.

  20. Zelda: I’m a big fan of yours so if I knew you put salt on a paper cut, I definitely would too. (Talk about paper cut screams!)

    • seriously, those envelopes gave me quite a few paper cuts and I ended up getting an alcohol-based cleaner on them when I was cleaning house yesterday. But I didn’t scream! I swear!

  21. Hey Gang,
    You’ve got to check out ZELDA’S BLOG. She’s got a winner with her post titled “Two Things You Want.” Click on her underlined name above one of her posts here and you’ll be entertained. I promise.

    • Yes! That was so funny, I was crying!
      (trying to imagine the expression on your face!)

    • Thanks for the plug for my blog, Shaddy. E and I are still laughing about that day.

      maureen, E says my outward expression didn’t betray my inner thoughts. If that’s true maybe I should scrap this writing thing and take up poker.

      I’m so glad to hear you both got a chuckle.

  22. Hmmph! “unb” is “fun” typed on TEENY laptop that runs Vista. All done while leanng on one arm in bed in a Ramada hotel in downtown Vancouver BC. Leave shortly for the ship. Don’t know if they will have wireless connections all the way. If you don’t hear from me in a week, end money.


    Wow. Gotta get used to this wee keyboard!

    • Know what’s funny? I have a sister in eastern WA, neices in Seattle, a nephew in Vancouver… but as far as I know no one setting sail… anyway, if you’ve been getting weird “something is making me think of maureen” vibes all week, well, there’s your explanation!
      (I may have even been to Walla Walla once myself! — can’t quite remember)

  23. This is for anyone who loves playing with words.
    Can anyone come up with just one? I can’t. That’s probably why Mensa never invites me anywhere

    Here are the winners of this year’s Washington Post’s Mensa Invitational which once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition:

    1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

    2. Ignoranus: A person who is both stupid and an asshole.

    3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

    4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

    5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

    6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

    7.Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high

    8.Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn’t get it.

    9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

    10. Osteo*****sis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

    11. Karmageddon: It’s like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it’s like, a serious bummer.

    12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

    13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

    14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

    15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you’ve accidentally walked through a spider web.

    16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

    17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you’re eating.

    The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly contest in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words. And the winners are:

    1. Coffee, n. The person upon whom one coughs.

    2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.

    3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

    4. Esplanade, v, To attempt an explanation while drunk.

    5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.

    6. Negligent, adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

    7. Lymph, v. To walk with a lisp.

    8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.

    9. Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.

    10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.

    11. Testicle n. A humorous question on an exam.

    12. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

    13. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist.

    14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with yiddishisms.

    15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

    16. Circumvent, n. An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men

  24. Shaddy

    Thank you for your comments about my writing my feelings about Ann/BWW. And for you to read it to your husband, well, I am astounded. He remembers me? Oh, lord, please tell me it’s not my “candle piece”. Whenever I need a good belly laugh, I dig that out of its folder and read it. But hey, it was my very first thing I wrote. Ya’ll don’t have it pinned up on a bulletin board in your kitchen, for laughs, do you? Ha! By the way, every single word I wrote for Ann/BWW was the truth. And the strange thing is, this ‘worthiness’ came over me almost undetected. No big fanfare. No big proclamation. No fireworks. Just a deep and abiding whisper. Even now, it feels strange to go from unworthiness to knowing I am worthy. So Shaddy, please tell your husband I said thank you sincerely.

    • You just keep listening to that deep and abiding whisper because a great truth is being spoken. You are indeed worthy.

      I don’t recall your candle piece as being laughable. I was probably giggling so hard at mine that I didn’t notice. Ann has probably seen some doozies in her time. I’m sure we all dumped everything we thought was cool about writing into our descriptions of a lowly candle. We had a lot to learn about what’s cool and what’s not when it comes to writing.

      I will definitely tell your husband that you were happy that he remembered you from BWW. He just pulled in the driveway so I’ll tell him right now.


  25. “A storm approaches.”
    The navigator says.
    “Steer into the wind,
    Adjust your course.”
    Lightening flashes,
    Thunder thumps my chest.
    Or is it my heart,
    Beating, no pounding.
    The bow rises,
    Waves break.
    So do the dishes.
    I jump at the sound
    And awake
    I sit on my bed
    In an ocean of sheets

  26. Poem of the Day – 8-May-09

    Serious Zelda’s
    Asleep for the night.
    So I’m sneaking in a moment to write.

    Here I sit, brokenhearted.
    Poem of the day just getting started
    Finding words can be a fight
    At this hour of the night.

    I know a young woman who loves a good shoe.
    She’s not all that different from me or from you.
    Sometimes the words flow with wondrous ease
    While other times, sadly, her muse is a tease.

    Hey, Shaddy! Hey, Kathy! Sabrina and Walk!
    Grab Gully and Barbara – let’s beat writer’s block!
    maureen, this flower – does it smell like shit?
    (I’d better behave. I’ll give Ann a fit.)

    Tomorrow is another day.
    A brand new chance with words to play.
    Same time. Same place. Let’s make a deal.
    And let’s have beans with EVERY meal!

    (Oh, man. Serious Zelda is gonna be so mad at me! Heh, heh.)

  27. There they go! The words are running around naked again! While serious Zelda’s away, the words will play.

  28. I sit on the side
    and watch them play
    they don’t hide
    or run away.

    They’re laughing and singing
    skipping with glee
    I sit here, cringing
    Hiding behind this tree.

    Oh how I wish I could let go
    step out from the tree
    and run to and fro
    strip down and just be free.

    I’ll try again real soon
    to let my words run nekked
    Ah, I’ll wait for a full moon
    maybe tomorrow. Reckon?

  29. Recycled from the archives of Walk:

    High Coo

    Like a Lotus blooms
    Love came alive in full beauty
    But the rain washed it away

    Miserable Wind
    Blowing through like a tyrant
    Leave my love with me

  30. High Coo Too

    I like it I do.
    Your words read like music, from
    My Walkman, that’s you.

  31. I giggle, then snort
    At the source of this recourse.
    Bbbwaaa, HeeeHeee
    If I laugh any harder I’ll pee.
    HaaaHaaa, HoooHooo
    My eyes are water’n like I had a cold
    Wakaaaa, Yakaaa
    I won’t wait long til I come back.

  32. I found this among some of my dad’s papers.


    If a pig drank several whiskey sours before he started,
    And ran a mile before he farted,
    How far could he run before he shits.


    Now in order for me to win this bet
    I first must take you to where the first fart was let.
    A farmer said he saw the pig pass
    With whiskey shooting from his ass.
    Now the farmer was a mile away
    From where the pig started
    And passed the farmer just as he farted.
    It was so funny the farmer had to laugh
    While the pig nearly ran a mile and half.
    Now it seems to me if he could keep his wits
    He could run five miles before he shits.

  33. I feel obligated to apologize for Fun Zelda’s behavior. It seems she’s taken this GA down notch with her bathroom humor disguised as poetry. She’s so easily influenced by others. I’ll try to keep her in check.

    I’ll write a serious poem today if I can find the time. I have so much to do today. Fun Zelda always disappears when there’s work to be done.

    • Fun Zelda and I are quite a pair! We’re both easily influenced.
      Since you were goofing around at work the other day, I figured I should too. 🙂
      I most certainly wouldn’t have even considered doing such a thing if you hadn’t let me astray!!

  34. naked words
    stripped down

    obscenity to you
    beauty to me

    devoid of protection
    easily wounded
    secrets revealed

    yet concealed
    by interpretation

  35. Poem of the Day, 050909

    What, Me Worry?

    As a kid I didn’t have to worry
    About much.
    My mom would do it
    And do it in a hurry.

    Would I go to bed hungry?
    Never a day, Mom was cooking
    While I played up a tree.

    Did I have nice clothes to wear?
    Sure did. Mom’s sewing,
    Making me dresses with style and flair.

    Was the house empty and cold
    When I came home from school?
    Nope, she was there with towels to fold.

    Did she hug me and hold me
    And tell me she loved me?
    No, with those she wasn’t so free.

    At the end of the day
    I’m so proud to say
    To me, she was perfect,
    Cuz we do what we can
    Cuz we all have our way.

    I’ve come to realize as the years pass and my mother is gone, that I had few worries during all those growing up years. At the time, I didn’t know it or appreciate it but as I live and see the world around me, I know I was loved.

    I’m learning to love who she was and what she did, and to forget what she couldn’t do.

    If I put the positive and the negative on a scale, it’s easy to see how blessed I was to have her as my mother.

  36. Anyone up for the challenge I presented on May 8th? It’s a good way for the right brain and the left brain to call a truce and work it out together.

    Looking forward to what you can come up with.

  37. Cool. You’re back Scribe. I’ll get to work on your challenge ASAP.

  38. shaddy and Zelda for some reason I can’t post a comment on your blogs, so I’ll just keep my amusing and enlightening comments to myself.

  39. Hey Mama, it’s me
    It’s Mothers Day

    There’s alot I want to say
    but what can I say.

    We’re doing all right, I suppose
    Everybody’s healthy. Today.

    Your grandchildren
    well they are grown now.

    Your great-granddaughter
    looks alot like you.

    Oh, I’m all right.

    I brought you some flowers, Mama.
    I’ll set them right here.

    I’ll be back soon, Mama.
    You rest easy.

    I miss you, Mama
    Especially today.

    • You’ve done it again, Kathy. You made me cry. This is absolutely beautiful. So simple and so honest, straight from your heart.

      I’d hug you if I could reach you.

      Always remember, you are worthy. Repeat after me “I am worthy.” A little louder now, “I am worthy.” Good girl. I heard you loud and clear that time.

      Now go out and smile, love and laugh the day away.


      P.S. I read your poem to my husband. He said, “Ahhh…”

  40. Scribe,

    This is my word in reponse to your challenge.

    flown (noun, rhymes with clown): The expression on a woman’s face when her husband walks in with a huge bouquet of beautiful flowers for her and she thinks he spent too much money and was too extravagant.

  41. A slap on my butt,
    Clipped something on my gut,
    I cry at the top of my lungs,
    Not really too much fun.
    You held me in your arms,
    Keeping me away from harm.
    The first thing I see is your smile,
    I wondered why you didn’t name me Kyle.
    For this fairly long life,
    Even with a wonderful wife,
    You was the first woman I loved,
    With the attitude of a dove,
    You taught me about living.
    By the love you were giving
    To anyone who you knew.
    This is all so true.
    Just like a smoothing balm,
    It’s wonderful to call you Mom.

    Happy Mother’s Day Y’all

  42. My first mother’s day
    didn’t really count
    I went into the hospital
    but didn’t have the baby
    till the following afternoon
    No one said Happy Mother’s Day
    What a gyp!

    • Another of life’s cruel jokes! I would have screamed bloody murder if I’d been in your place. How dare they withhold that wish from you!
      (Good grief, what brought on that reaction from me?)

      After calming down,
      May I respond
      Like this:
      I agree, Maureen,
      What a gyp!

  43. Good one, Shaddy. It’s not an easy challenge. I can’t come up with a darn thing. Mensa would be proud of you and throw rotten fruit at me. Keep thinking. I love these. I think my favorite one is “circumvent”. Too funny.

    • Ok Scribe, how about these:

      Pickpolitican: Someone from Washington who shakes your hand while picking your pocket withe the other

      Automotive: Automatic impulse reaction

      Purrfection: A blood disease you get from a cat

      Keybored: Falling asleep at your computer.

      • Way to go Walk; I’ve known for years that you’re a genius. You’ve blown me away with your word fabrications.

        [Like h… I am. You most certainly borrowed them from another list. But then, you didn’t claim that you created them, did you…or did you?].

      • To above 4 word defintions are only from the mind of Walk. No one else would take the credit anywho. If they are repeats from another list, I claim ignorance. Which needs no explanation, cuz everyone knows I is.

    • Yes, circumvent is cool (in more ways than one)!

  44. Barbara Burris

    freedumb: What you get when you cut classes

  45. Walk: You show ain’t ignorant if’n you cumed up with all fore a dem werds. I pologize profuzly and aks fer yer pardun.

  46. Ha! Ha! I heard a good one. I can’t take credit for it, but I love it:


    (In case you haven’t heard it before, I’ll give you a clue: it what happens when a sneeze provokes an audible escape of air from one’s posterior.)

    Shhh. Don’t tell Serious Zelda I was here. She thinks I’m doing laundry.

  47. Serious Walk here. Poem titled “Why I Don’t Write Poetry”

    I walk,
    Leaving a trail of footprints.
    I seek,
    The road I can call my own.
    I find.
    Now will I follow?

    The heart,
    Will never fail to lead.
    The mind,
    Will never fail to comprehend.
    The soul,
    Will never fail to be fulfilled.

    If you let it.

    • I think you should rename it: Why I Write Poetry.

      Your heart and soul love to write poetry, you know that and I know that and everyone else here knows that. There’s lots of it stored up just waiting to flow out, that is, quoting you, “If you let it.”

  48. Poem of the Day 051109

    He’s gone fishing,
    My man has left me
    To go far away
    In quest of slippery,
    Slimey and wiggly things.

    I wanted him home so badly,
    Why I rubbed Italian dressing
    All over my body
    Then wiggled up close.
    I puckered my lips
    And stuck them way out,
    Opening and closing them
    You know, like most fish do.

    He looked at me and
    His eyes got real big,
    Bigger than I’d ever seen.
    Before I could kiss him
    He pulled free of my arms
    And before I could say
    He’d already hooked ME…
    And he’d no reason to go
    He ran for the door.

    I heard the truck start.
    The tires squealed,
    Burnt rubber and stink
    Were all that was left for me.

    I only wanted him here,
    Not gone way up north.
    I guess I’m not slimey and
    Wiggly enough for him.
    I’m not a crappie or
    A walleye or northern.
    Look what I’ve done
    Silly old me
    He’s gone a day early
    What have I done?

    • You poor, ignorant thing. Next time use cod liver oil! Mmmm — MMM! THAT fish stank will get yo man goin!!!

  49. I don’t know about most ole boys, but Italian dressing and puckered lips sound like fun. He wasn’t burning rubber to get to the store for some “e-scent-als” (there’s one for Scribe) were he?

    • Nope, he weren’t. I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him. It’s a pity; to think that I used a whole bottle of that dressing…and all for nothing.

      Woe is me. The shower drain’s clogged with the oil and herbs in the dressing…what a shame, what a waste. Oh, woe is me.

      • That just don’t make “no lick” of sense. Lettuce do sum radish thinkin’ on this. I think it was the Italian dressin’, use Ranch next time. Nuttin’ like takin’ a ride around the Ranch.

  50. OMG. You guys are funny! You’ll never know how I needed all these laughs and how much they cheered me. Everyone who participated in this crazy challenge: to you I say “Creativity is your middle name.” Thank you. By the way, if anyone noticed, my design is the same as Shy’s. Which means I am Shy. But some of you said I shouldn’t be Shy so I’m not anymore. Gottcha!

    • If we say you shouldn’t be Scribe anymore will you go bad to being Shy?

      Now, Scribe, don’t, please don’t. Ann doesn’t allow hitting in class…ouch…I said don’t, Scribe. I’m telling Ann. ANN, Scribe’s being naughty!

      Welcome back to the “ward”.

  51. A ride around the ranch. Why, I like the sound of that, Mr. Walk. Giddy on up.
    My feller, well, he’d prefer somethin on the sweeter side, like honey, say, or a nice coffee liqueur.

  52. My daughter is about to turn thirteen
    Lovely, scary age of in-between

    She reminds me a lot of myself
    But she hasn’t been through half the hell

    I’m glad, so glad, that she hasn’t seen
    the things I knew about when I was in-between

  53. Knew: something you ride down the river in.

  54. Relief: something that happens every spring.

  55. Barbara Burris

    hairied: a hirsute being…or a hairsuit being, hee hee.

    This is more fun than poetry. I’ve never been terribly poetic… or maybe I have!

    • Barbara–

      It’s plain to see
      I am no poet
      But I pretend to be.
      I should stop, you know it?

      Now, after reading that, doesn’t it make you feel better about your ability to write poetry? I just cut my lines short and place them in groups of 2 or 4.

    • This is fun, indeed. Once the left and right sides of our brain decide to cooperate, the word possibilities are endless.

      endless (adjective): a person who lacks a good set of buttocks

      See what I mean?

  56. Hey Shy Scribe

    I knew it was you. I pay attention to the colors. I love thinking about these word things. But I have to say it’s driving me crazy! You know, kind of like when you get a song stuck in your brain. Those word things are so genuinely funny–I loved all of them but I believe my favorite one is “Lymph”–to walk with a lisp. Ha! Oh and I like number 6. Foreploy.

    I’m glad you’re back, Shy Scribe.

  57. tentist (noun): person who repairs holes in tents

  58. Walk: I reckon you’re right about the dressing. My man prefers Ranch on his lettuce; I chose Italian for the occasion cuz it’s slimier.

    I don’t know–it may have made matters worse. If he finds out that he prefers riding the ranch over fishing, I may end up with a horse in the garage!

  59. shampoo (noun): a sham gone bad

  60. dentist (noun): one who is adept at fender benders

    carpet (noun): a much beloved automobile

    I can’t stop. I’m trying to get dressed for a run and a bike ride but I keep coming back here. Sheesh!!

  61. While I was running and biking, I came up with these:

    blossom (noun): boring addition problem

    flour (noun): sixty minutes that fly by

    sintence (noun): a sentence which contains at least one unforgiveable grammatical error

  62. ‘Relief’ and ‘Endless’. My new favorites. Mensa doesn’t know what they’re missing!

  63. Revision: happens to a psychic

    Addicted: female sex change

    retired: what happens when Shaddy runs after resting

    missing: hitting a sour note

    grateful: storm drain that’s running over

    topless: not wearing a hat

    • Yup, you’re right. I’m retired again. Now I rest until Saturday and then I’ll really, really be retired. (Not really, my body is used to the abuse I put it through). I’m just hoping it doesn’t rain; that’s what the weatherman is predicting. The forecast could change 10 times in 4 days.

      Addicted, I got it after some careful study.
      Grateful, that’s a good one.
      Missing hit the spot too.

      Oh heck, Walk, they’re all admirable.

  64. These people on board this ship don’t quite know what to make of me. More later–after I get home–along with a picture of me and Elvis together. I love you guys, but at 55 cents a minute for Internet access, my love has a price tag on it. Ziplining in Ketchikan tomorrow–whatever ziplining is…

    • I have some jackets with zip-in, zip-out linings. That’s the only experience I’ve had with ziplining. I hope what you’ll be doing in Ketchikan is more exciting than that.

      [I reckon you and I both know what ziplining is. You’re gonna love it, I’m sure of that. You’ll want to do it again and again; you’ll want to rush back for another rush. I’m not speaking from experience, although I wish I was.]

  65. We miss you, Gully. It was good to hear from you (even if your love us knows bounds).

    Ooh, ooh! I thought of an alternate meaning for a common word during my drive home from work yesterday.

    Elemental: one who forgets nothing / has a memory like an elephant.

  66. Poem of the Day 051309

    Fun With Dental Patients’ Names

    I will write my poem
    Using the names
    On our schedule today.
    We have Klingenberg,
    Sackmann and Pearson, Timm,
    Turnmire, Crick and Cain,
    Mowers, Busch, Trotter,
    Wendt and Forrest, Clark,
    Buchanan, Selgren,
    Kristopeit and Farnum.

    I will write about the
    Cricks that chirped
    From Busches in
    The Forrest.

    I’ll go on to say:
    Timm can’t Trotter now
    That he uses a Cain.

    And then you’ll want to know
    About Clark
    Who picked Klingenberg
    Pearsons from a tree
    And carried them off
    In a Sackmann.

    And then there’s
    Kristopeit Columbus
    Who fired a Buchanan and
    Mowers down Clark
    As he attempted
    To Selgren the sack
    Of stolen pears.

    Oh, and last but not least,
    About that bloody mess
    In the corner of the yard,
    The gardener’s been
    Turnmire instead of
    Planting flowers Farnum
    And wide around the house
    Like I told him to.

    [I hope that by stretching your imagination, you enjoyed my name game.]

    • Shaddy,
      You constantly amaze me with your playful wordSMITHing.

    • Hey! Where went Wendt?

      • I was hoping someone would notice and ask about Wendt.

        I didn’t forget him. Oh, no. I cleverly left him out so I could find out how observant my readers are.

        You win first prize, Zelda, you devil you. As for Wendt:

        Wendt went and left before I could include him.

        [Remember someone called me a compulsive liar back in a previous GA? Well, I’m at it again. I hate to admit it but I did accidentally leave Wendt out. Perhaps, subconsciously for the reason I stated above.]

        Wow! I really didn’t expect anyone to check my work. Eeek! I best be watchful in da future.

  67. Poem of the Day 13-May-09

    It’s Bean a Long Time

    Hey, there! Three bean salad, my old friend!
    Long time no see.
    We used to meet up every day
    In line at the college salad bar.
    I haven’t seen you for years and years.
    You still look the same.
    In fact, you haven’t changed a bit.
    Just as I remembered.
    (Maybe fewer kidney beans…
    Don’t worry. It happens to the best of us.)
    Wow! It was great catching up with you.
    What a flood of happy memories
    You’ve brought to me today.

    • I like the play on words in your title.

      I’m afraid we’re all spilling the beans as the years carry us along and we start to stagger as we go. I’m quickly learning how it feels to be half-baked.

  68. Do you like birdhouses or are you intrigued by men gone mad? Check out my blog: http://www.papercutscreams.blogspot.com.

  69. Shaddy,
    Whether intentional or not, your wayward Wendt did my soul good. I’m very frustrated with all of the needless mistakes I make in my writing (missing words, poor punctuation, improper tense, and on and on). I can check the work of others but have such trouble proofreading my own words. Wendt went and made me feel better. Practice, practice, practice, right?

    • I haven’t noticed any errors in your writing. But, you’re right about practice–it’s the key to success in everything.

      Wendt was probably the easiest name to use in a poem and wouldn’t you know it would be the one I missed. Go figure!

  70. I’ve tired to talk with a co-worker four time today. Each time I walked to his office he was on the phone. Not his office phone but his cell phone. So I performed CPR on him, Cell Phone Rage.

  71. I take it that’s a yes, Walk.

  72. Poem of the Day 051409

    Here In Anne’s Place

    It’s awful quiet
    Here in Anne’s place.

    Zelda’s been here lately,
    Walk spoke his piece.

    I suspect it’s because
    Spring showed up.

    Warmer days drag us
    Away from our chairs
    And our computers.

    Nothing’s wrong with that.
    There’s something special about
    Fresh air and sunshine.

    There’s a time to write
    And then a time to put
    The pen aside.

    My pen’s kind of wedged
    ‘Tween my fingers;
    I can’t let it go.

    So instead, I open the window
    And I invite the outside in
    To take a stool beside me.

    I can hear the night insects
    Out there, talking to me.
    ‘Tis not so awfully quiet
    Here in Anne’s place
    After all.

    • Shaddy, wait for Gully to get back, things will start jumping then. She’ll have to wow us with all the knowledge that she’s learned on that writing cruise.

  73. Chips

    The chips are down
    I placed my bet
    If the wife finds out
    The chips will fly

    I had chips with dinner
    It was fish
    Not crisp
    Just taters

    Watch where you step
    The cow chips are down
    You may slip
    And fall to the ground

    I chipped my tooth
    Chip was one of three sons
    The car door chipped my paint
    Chip a dee doo daw

  74. What we have here
    Is a two for one

    First came Ann’s assignment
    Write a poem every day

    Second came Shy Scribe’s prompt
    Make up words and meanings

    So is this Goofing Around 15 and 16
    Or part one and two?

    It really don’t matter,
    No, not at all

    But my mind is adrift,
    Rocking to and fro

    My butt is stuck
    In this chair

    So I’ll make up stupid poems
    To keep from satan’s lair

    Till tomorrow
    My friends

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