We linger for hours
over bottles of fine wines;
no need to hurry.
These perfect moments
captured in warm memories
even as we drink.
Friends enhance the grape
even mediocre wines
seem superb vintage.
Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Linger–tell us about times In which you linger, when you don’t want a day or an event to end.
A couple of folks have inquired as to whether I am still cooking meals for Studly Doright. Why, yes. Yes, I am.
Studly Doright remains among the living
Even after all of my cooking.
Some nights I create minor miracles
Other nights we survive on cereals.
Still, I miss the cool days of winter
When I could just serve soup for dinner.
Tonight I’m serving veggies and roast
They smell pretty great and that’s no boast.
Let’s raise a glass to good home cooking
But I dropped the roast when he wasn’t
looking.
shhhhhh!
Peace, people!
To sleep, perchance to dream…
I often dream of houses
that seemingly have room
after room with no hallways.
In these rooms I wander
finding unexpected treasures,
antiques, and curiosities in each.
Someone once told me that
when we dream about houses
we are dreaming about our lives.
In that case, my life is
filled with wonderful oddities
and treasures all hiding in plain sight.
Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt.
i talk to myself
hoping to
unknot persistent
ideas that
repeatedly careen
around the
smooth cornerless
contours of my mind
like a bird against a
pane wanting in,
even if they die
in the process.
Drove to the beach
Picnicked on the pier
Waded in the waves
Sipped at a beer
Napped beneath the sun
Strolled upon the sand
Searched for seashells
Listened to a band
Gathered up the towels
Rinsed off my toes
Drove into town
Rubbed lotion on my nose.
Living in this world
takes concentration and verve
not to mention nerve.
Pain abounds in life
miseries without an end
oh humanity!
Yet deep within us
exists enduring beauty
sweetly transcendent.
Photos found on Pinterest.
Peace, people!
In response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:
Write an anonymous letter to someone you’re jealous of.
Dear Pampered House Cat,
I want the life you have:
Sleeping all day, anyplace you’d like. Carousing all night, chasing imaginary mice.
Claiming a lap, making it your own.
Purring when petted, knowing you belong.
Yes, dear kitty, I’m jealous of you
Sincerely,
Anonymous (but you know who.)
Peace, people!
In response to the Daily Prompt: The clothes (may) make the (wo)man. How important are clothes to you? Describe your style if you have one, and tell us how appearance impacts how you feel about yourself.
i often complain
that i’ve not found my style
some days i’m tailored,
then gypsy awhile.
my brain and my body
can seldom agree
on what I should wear
or what looks best on me.
at my age you’d think
I’d have developed a plan
for looking my best
or as sharp as i can.
alas i’m afraid
more often than not
my style comes across
looking none too hot.
I have some incredibly stylish friends, women and men who know exactly what defines their look. I admire their fashion sense. Occasionally I can almost picture my own style and decide to build a suitable wardrobe. Then something odd or offbeat catches my eye and I’m off on a tangent. A style tangent.
Marathoners tell
of surviving the long race;
going the distance.
Pour me a tall glass
Of Chardonnay and watch me
Go my own distance.
For I will never
Compete in a marathon,
But just watch me drink.
Peace, People!
When a cowboy dies
the world sighs and God calls out
“come home son, and rest!”
“You’ve no more cattle
to brand, no roundups to ride,
come home son, and rest.”
“Your best horse awaits
ready for your gentle hand
ride home son, and rest.”
When a cowboy dies
loved ones cry, while angels sing,
“welcome home; now rest.”
I wrote this piece as a tribute to my husband’s Uncle, Frank Parker, who passed away this week. I didn’t have a photo of Uncle Frank, but actor Fess Parker (pictured above) was a cousin, and shared a lot of the same good genetic material.
Uncle Frank was a true cowboy from his early teenaged years in Pie Town, New Mexico, until his body just couldn’t do the work anymore. Not too many years ago Frank suffered a broken neck in a horse-related incident.
No one expected Frank to live, but he did, recovering fully and continuing to ride the range out near Albuquerque, New Mexico, on into his 80’s.
Uncle Frank was one hell of a tough man, and a real cowboy. He’s ridden on home now. May he truly find rest.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 