Writing 201: Poetry – Day 8 — Ode To Grandmother’s Engagement Ring

Today’s Prompt: Drawer.
Assignment. Write an ode based on this prompt, using the technique of apostrophe.



Ode To Grandmother’s Engagement Ring

Delicate band of gold,
Crested with a tiny crown of diamond,
Snuggled safely ‘neath sweet-scented hankies,
In the top drawer of my Grandmom’s chest.

Though your jewel is tiny,
It sparkles with a fire that doesn’t fade.
Decades have come and gone since you were given,
And decades more since you were laid to rest.

That day so long ago,
When Grandpop slipped you onto Grandmom’s hand,
Betrothing each to each in awesome love,
Their journey thus begun, they gave their best.

And from their love
Two generations more have now been giv’n
Those seeds of love, watered with their examples,
And generations more will soon be blessed.

Delicate band of gold,
Crested with your tiny crown of diamond,
I’ll hold you dear and treasure you my whole life,
The symbol of a love that passed the test.



Writing 201: Poetry – Day 7 — ‘My Fingers Touched the Keys of Silence’

Today our assignment is to write a prose poem (poetry that makes itself apparent as such although written as prose — without standard meters or rhyme schemes.). Our subject is fingers, and the poetic technique that we are aiming for is assonance (repetition of vowel sounds).


My Fingers Touched the Keys of Silence

My fingers touched the keys of silence, and I played its song. It pulled from me a longing that I thought was gone forever – the yearning to release my soul in flowing words that birth new life in images and sounds that intertwine and reach another soul and draw it close to mine. I feared my well was dry, my soul an empty sieve, and that I’d nevermore know a yearning to create with words that live. Ah, the peace, the solace that replaces fear. For now I know I have it still – the gift to make words living things. All it took was spending time with silence for a while, and as it’s music played, it filled my well again.




Tickle Me Tuesday – Week 4

CARTOON MAN LYING DOWN LAUGHING 2Are you ready to grin, giggle, or just feel good?  That’s what this little challenge is all about. We share posts that are happy, light-hearted, funny, or downright hilarious. Make it prose, poetry, picture, graphic art, a joke, a song, a video ……. Whatever your heart desires. Post on your own blog and hop over here and paste your link into the “Comments” box so we can visit your site and grin, giggle, and feel good with you. Just please remember the site is for general audiences.

Here’s my contribution this week. I sneaked into Life Is Worth Living by Vera Faye Wallace (my mom) and snatched this little ditty.



I really thought the thing to do

Was to teach my wife in driving.

But, on second thought, I’m asking you;

I know you love skydiving!



Writing 201:Poetry – Day 6 – “The Ballad of Sister Mary Margaret

Today’s subject is heroes and heroines. The form is the ballad. And the poetic technique that we are to use is anaphora or epistrophe (simply the repetition of words or phrases at the beginning or end of lines for the sake of emphasis). So I have given you the story of the bravest nun in the west: Sister Mary Margaret.
(Town of Petticoat Ridge, Nevada, circa 1868)

Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
I guess you’d say the story’s set in stone.
Our town is now quite famous, and the tourists flock around.
And it’s for sure the credit’s hers alone.

But Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down.
She did wait for somebody else to act.
But since no man among us would move to save the town,
The sister did her duty well; that’s fact.

But Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
You see, a bull came charging down Main Street –
Stompin’, snortin’, chargin hard at people all around –
And all the folks made haste in their retreat.

Poor Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
She had just finished services at church.
She stepped out to the street; her smile became a frown.
Her gold-rimmed glasses on her nose she perched.

Ahh, Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
The bull so wild was goin’ to take a life.
Up came her skirt; her petticoat she ripped it right around:
A petticoat as RED as cherries ripe!

Poor Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
The gasps of horror echoed through the air.
For no one – not one single person ever could condone
A nun who wore bodacious underwear.

Sad Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down.
But at her petticoat that bull did charge.
And Sister Mary Margaret taunted him right out of town,
And off the cliff that bull she did discharge.

But Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down.
Poor Sister Mary Margaret will never, never, never live it down.


Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: Rule of Thirds

This week’s Daily Post Photo Challenge asks us to post a picture that follows the “rule of thirds” and perhaps includes a bokeh effect. I didn’t try for bokeh because I didn’t want my background blurred. It’s too beautiful as it is, and the contrast is perfect.




Writing 201: Poetry – Day 5 — ‘Too Late’

Today’s prompt word is “fog.” The form we’ve been asked to use is the elegy — with strong encouragement to try using elegiac couplets. And the technique assigned for today is the metaphor.

I’ve offered my piece in a slightly modified elegiac couplet, and the only occurrence of a metaphor is in the second line. But since this is the poem that came to me, I did not try to force myself to comply with more exact or more numerous metaphors. I sort of liked the piece the way it came. So, dear readers, that’s the way I’m serving it to you.  (And to set your mind at rest, I will tell you that the poem is NOT based on personal experience — I’m thankful to say.)


Out from the fog and the daze I am struggling to make my way.
Scrabbling to gather the pieces of my tattered life.

Once I was warm with a love that imbued me with happiness.
Now only memories haunt me and cause my heart strife.

I sought to hold you, to own you, to bind you to me for all time.
Giving no freedom, no breathing space, no chance to fly.

Smothering you with my paranoid jealousy; making you hate me;
Turning your poor heart to stone, and that caused you to die.

Oh, how I long for just one day to relive my tragic mistakes –
One hour to whisper that finally my lesson I’ve learned.

One precious moment to bare my soul as I have never before,
Offering you only the unselfish love that you earned.

But wretch that I am, I have come to the truth only when it’s too late.
Repentant in heart, but with no where to go to confess.

For cold, ‘neath the ground you have lain all these months, and your ears cannot hear.
I’m eternally lost in this fog of remorse, and there is no rest.


Writing 201:Poetry – Day 4 – ‘A Whale of a Tale’

Don’t sit there scratching your head. I’ll tell you what it’s supposed to be.
Our instructions for Day 4 include the subject of animals, the form of concrete (or shape) poems, and the technique of enjambment. Whew!!!  Okay, how did I do? Well, the best I could come up with on shape was what I HOPE looks the tiniest bit like the flippers of a whale — going down into the ocean (of my words). I did try to work with the HTML and type the poem right into my editing window. Not going to happen this time around. I finally ran out of time to spend on it, so I typed my whale flippers into a document, scanned it, and pasted it into this post. Oh well — onward and upward. I took a little liberty with the REAL story as it comes to us in the Word of God, but thank goodness, God has a sense of humor as well.






The poem above was approved and endorsed by the International Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Pink Whales.


Writing 201: Poetry – Day 3 — Two Trustworthy Acrostics

The word “trust” is an enormously powerful word — at least to me. It embodies a complete surrender of self-protection and puts one in a vulnerable position. As a result, I don’t trust easily. I’m grateful to say that there are a few people I feel safe in trusting, and although “few” may sound like a negative number, I’ve learned that it’s sometimes rare to have even that many.

However, there is one Person I trust implicitly: my Lord Jesus Christ. And it seemed only natural, when given the word “trust” as our prompt today, that my heart and mind would turn towards Him as I wrote my poem for the challenge. I offer two poems, both of them meeting the challenge of the acrostic form. But since what I wanted to say did not lend itself easily to much internal rhyme, and since I didn’t have much more time to devote to scouring for different word choices, I have opted to let that technique wait for another time.


There is but One whose love and help are sure.
Renewed each day as surely as the sun.
Under His wings of grace I find the cure:
Sin and hate, sorrow, sickness – done.
‘Tis Jesus Christ, the sole trustworthy One.


Tiny babe: He took that form in Bethlehem.
Relinquishing Heaven’s privileges, became a man.
Upon Himself, He took my sin and all its curse.
Secure in Love’s omnipotence, He took the cross.
Then surely I can trust myself into His hands.


Writing 201: Poetry – Day 2 — ‘Escape’

This is day 2 of the ‘Writing 201:Poetry’ course. Our prompt today is the word “journey.” Our form is the limerick. And our suggested poetic devise is alliteration. I used three limericks to tell the story of a journey, and I did manage to throw in a bit of alliteration for good measure. Hope you get a kick out of this one.


Well, my journey by train has begun.
As for tickets, I don’t have a one.
With police pressing in,
And this shackle ’round my shin,
All I packed was my trusty old gun.

In the baggage compartment I’ll hide,
And my time I will patiently bide.
When we make the next stop,
From this train I will hop
To the next and continue my ride.

It’s a journey to freedom I take.
And I can’t stop; there’s too much at stake.
Since I’m guilty as sin,
In a court, I can’t win,
But I’ve vowed future crime to forsake.


Tickle Me Tuesday – Week 3 — ‘The Way to a Woman’s Heart’

Okay, it’s Tuesday again, folks, and time for “Tickle Me Tuesday.” If you want to play along, just post a funny, light-hearted, or downright hilarious story, poem, picture, joke, or non-fiction piece on your own blog. Hop over here and paste the link to your own post in the “Comments” section on this post (any time this week). Then we’ll come over and enjoy yours as well. Remember my site is for general audiences, but that’s the only rule you have to follow.

Here’s my cute (I hope) little story told in a series of limericks.


BAKER WITH ICINGNow, Henry the baker was shy.
But he wanted to marry Miss Fry.
So with icing he wrote
On her cake this brave note:
“If you’ll have me, then I am your guy.”

But Miss Fry was too shy to say “yes.”
So that still left poor Henry a mess.
But he baked some eclairs
To show how much he cared
And delivered them to her address.

Now this courting went on for a year.
And each day Henry thought her more dear.
Though she gained fifty pounds,
In the end she came ’round,
And their wedding day, at last, is here.


Writing 201: Poetry – Day 1 – Three Water Haiku

I have met several poets in the WordPress community who are masters at haiku. Gilly Goldsworthy at Lucid Gypsy is one of those people. And Dennis Lange, The Bard on the Hill, has created his own unique version of haiku and does beautiful work with it. The form has never been one of my strong points, but I do really enjoy experimenting with it. I got lots of fun out of this assignment, partly because once I got started thinking about all the different kinds of water, I couldn’t decide which kind to write about. So I just posted three totally different takes on the subject. Hope my visitors enjoy them.


BIG RAIN PLOPS - top credits - cropped

I am a raindrop.
Sea mist rising gave me birth.
Now I’m headed home.


Children Playing in Puddle(Version One)

‘m a mud puddle.
As magnet’s force compels iron,
So I draw children.

(Version Two)

Beck’ning mud puddle:
As magnet’s force compels iron,
So it draws children.

(I can’t decide which of the two versions I like better, so I’ll let readers decide for themselves)


BRENDA'S OCEAN - CROPPEDRomance of the sea:
Waves kissed by the silver moon
Caress yearning sand.


Love In A Dead Language

Latin is often referred to as a dead language. And while it’s true that no culture actually uses Latin on a daily basis as their primary means of communication, the fact remains that so many modern languages owe their very existence to the root words derived from classical Latin. Moreover, many of the systems that are important parts of modern life in any culture — medical science and the legal systems, for example — still derive the vocabulary that makes each system unique from that primary language that has given so much to the world. I studied Latin in high school, and I learned a great deal about my own language and about the history of the world in general through that language. So, in honor of a language that I still love — and in honor of love in general — seeing as how it’s Valentine’s Day — I offer this little bit of verse in defense of Latin.

BOOK & INKWELL - w. TEXT - moderate sepia

Amo: I love.
Amas: You love.
Amat: He loves.
If Latin is a language dead, what gives?

Amamus: We love.
Amatis: You love.
Amant: They love.
With this much love, then surely Latin lives!