A tangle of branches Climbs into the clouds, Swaying in the soft summer breeze. Gentle scene offers a reprieve From the dramas playing out on the ground. Teeth against talons– A stream of screams breaks the peace And the air bleeds with sound. Seeds borne of strife Sail through the winds of time, A boon to one, An ending to another, And the sun continues to shine.
I promise I’ll never be flippant About serious shizz, Like buttercream frosting And the cat litter biz. I try hard to respect The alternative views Of those who wear socks With sandals not shoes. Religion is off-limits, But politics is a lark; We’d all surely go mad Without daily doses of snark. Dating is a joke And I treat it as such, Which is why I’m alone And I don’t give a f—!
There are many topics I could ramble on about for Linda’s prompt today, but I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to promote Gracie’s Gamble by Anna Fondant. This is such a sweet, sexy little story and it costs less than a buck. Seriously, it’s a way better deal than a bag of cherries, plus all the fireworks in this book are perfectly legal. Celebrate the 4th in appreciation of sizzling hot lurve with no risk of a sunburn or a hangover. Heck, I might buy another copy for myself!
This reminds me… after reorganizing Anna’s books and culling those that don’t fit her brand (like dragons, lol), she has 7 items for sale right now, plus her contributions to the Dangerous Curves anthologies. Anna offers a yummy mix of novels and short stories on her dessert cart. Don’t be afraid to buy more than one ~ these treats are calorie free!
Now, 7 may be a lucky number for some peeps, but I prefer a Monkish set of ten. So, for the record, I do intend to add 2 more books to my list and 3 to Anna’s. I have a bunch of WIPs, and while my folders may appear to be a big messy scramble, trust me, the stories are all planned out in detail. Translated, that means I have titles and names. Plot, schmot! I just need a few more hours in each day…
If I told him once, I told him a thousand times that he’d be making a grave mistake if he were to… put a full tank of gas in the car on such a scorching hot day.
“That’s just an old wives tale,” he scoffed. “I never heard of a tank exploding because the gas expanded in the heat. You can’t even give me one example!”
I shook my head. “It’s science, not a myth.”
“Come on,” he said. “You know it’s only a story your fossil of a grandpa tells everyone just to get attention.”
“If that’s an attempt to console me, it’s not working,” I told him. “Grandpa is from the old country and he knows things! Remember when he warned us not to eat corn during a full moon and he was right? You got really sick.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Pete’s sake! That was just a coinci—”
He was interrupted by a loud blast from the garage and then all the smoke alarms began blaring.
I found a very cool poetry form at Tao-Talk, which is creating a poem out of book titles. I loved Lisa’s creation, so I figured I’d do one of my own. These are titles currently on my Kindle (some read, some not), and I added transition words only (mostly verbs) to make it flow. Maybe later I’ll do another one from the books in my closet.
Where the desert meets the sea, The murmur of bees Tell the secrets of lost stones. The last of the moon girls– Little voices In the forgotten hours– Sing the original dream. A promise of storms And all the light we cannot see Guide the last one home. In the world to come, Where the forest meets the stars, Strangers we know Merge into unbroken Shadows beneath the falling snow.
Sometimes I lose sight of the big picture, which (in my opinion) is that there isn’t one. According to various charts, I have between 27-32 years left on this earth, and I don’t want to spend that time stressing over what I haven’t accomplished. Instead, I plan to “enjoy every sandwich” as Warren Zevon famously said after being diagnosed with a fatal disease. It’s good advice regardless because you never know when your time is up.
Kitty at window / dreams of birds she cannot reach / soaks up the warm sun
Some find freedom in romantic love, and others find freedom in releasing the dream. For decades, I nurtured the dream of love like a precious pet in a golden cage, feeding it fantasies and hope, but in 2017 I let it go. I opened the door and the dream soared out and away, circling around as if to be sure, and then taking off until it was a speck against the azure sky and finally gone. Once in a while, I find a feather to remind me that I used to long for love. But now I am free.