Every time someone purchases my book….
…I do a happy dance.
And every time someone writes a positive review…
I sing a happy song.
It’s been a very good day. Thank you!
I danced one night with a cowboy
He asked; I said yes, even though my friends were whining to go
I remember the smell of him, like new leather and spice,
The feel of his crisp white shirt and my hand in his,
And the way he held me close, like I was fragile and precious.
He asked if he could take me home, but I was spoken for already, so I thanked him for the dance
And went on my way.
Always the tallest
Last one picked as a partner
A true wallflower
No one was unkind
The sad faces, exhaled sighs
Though, told the story
I so loved to dance
Had rhythm enough to spare
Oh, to be chosen
A day, one minute
They’re both the same without you
Time shuffles along
One beer becomes three
Each sip brings a memory
Sure wish you were here
I dance alone some
Waltzing around the kitchen
Clutching a shadow
Just call me the Queen of Sample Sizes as today I toss 16 items that I must have purchased for travel and then never used more than once, or used completely and then never removed from my travel bag.
Note the clever arrangement of said items into the number 16. Surely I deserve bonus points for the artwork.
To close today’s post, here’s an appropriate tune from my teen years. I do so love this song, and once made up an interpretive dance to accompany it that perhaps only two people have ever seen. It was that rare.
Aging sucks, but as I’m frequently reminded it beats the hell out of the alternative. This past October I celebrated my 60th birthday. Six decades on this earth have taken a toll on my body. I’m no longer the svelte, lithesome broad I once was. And everything hurts.
My ankles hurt, my thighs hurt, and my hips seem to be stuck in neutral. I’m okay as long as I move forward, just don’t ask me to pivot or cha cha. Damn, I miss cha cha-ing.
A Facebook pop up advertisement (amazing how they pick up on my personal needs) prompted me to check on exercises designed to ease those frozen hips. Apparently, if I could stretch my hip flexors, I might achieve full range of motion. I could once again cha cha.
I turned to Google, and this stretch was the first thing to appear under “hip flexor stretches.”
Honestly. I can’t cha cha and they expect me to do this? I tried. Lord knows I tried. Studly Doright walked in during my attempt and laughed so hard I would have slapped him if I could’ve gotten up off the floor.
I’ll be in the whirlpool tub if anyone needs me.
A fellow blogger, Gretl Feeson at https://gretlfeesonpoetry.wordpress.com/ has introduced me to a variety of poetry forms. He’s always so good about providing the syllable count so those of us still learning the craft can give the form a try.
Today that form was a lanterne, a five line poem (cinquain) with syllable counts of one, two, three, four, and one respectively. Gretl’s lanternes pack a lot of punch; whereas, no matter how much I played with mine it still came out rather wimpy.
I’ll keep working on the challenge though. Might need to drink a bourbon instead of a wine.
I awakened to the sound of music with a heavy back beat: Thump, drag, thump, drag, thumpety-thump, drag.
Four behemoths surrounded me, circling closer at every turn.
Three were unholy physical specimens, long of tooth and claw. Fearsome in their intent.
The fourth was lame, addlepated, carefully moving one stumpy appendage in front of the other.
Snatching at the box of sanity I kept on my nightstand, I watched and waited for an opening.
When the crippled beast stumbled, as we all knew he would, I dashed between his grasping arms.
Stinging pain sang through my neck, a lucky blow rained down.
I screamed, a tuneless melody of injured flesh, and the beasts paused.
“Yes! Yes!” they all cried out. “Now the dance can begin.”
i am the undisputed
champion of laundry
and other areas of
in my wildest dreams.
melodies are composed
in honor of my skills
of bold athetic prowess
on the sporting field,
in my wildest dreams.
belle of the ball am i,
graceful and desirable,
of incomparable beauty,
in my wildest dreams.
in truth i am average,
in every imaginable way
no fans, no praises,
no notable skills,
but i still have dreams.
Inspiration comes from everywhere. This particular piece was inspired by an advertisement for detergent. If only my laundry could be that fresh, that perfect….ah, if only.