“You can’t go back and make a new start, but you can start right now and make a brand new ending.”
–James R. Sherman, PhD, Rejection
“You can’t go back and make a new start, but you can start right now and make a brand new ending.”
–James R. Sherman, PhD, Rejection
Back and forth. In and out. Sun to down. Winter to winter, for thirty years.
The children changed. The house aged. The horses and cows and chickens and that mean old goat -all ended up at slaughter; to be replaced by horses, cows, chickens -but no more goats. For thirty years.
She stood while the priest spoke about the dark shadow she’d known for so very long. This and that. Bless his soul. Rest in peace.
Veiled and black. Grey and old. No more back or forth, in or out, sun to down. Clouds clearing, she smelled the spring.
©2020 Chel Owens
Awakened in response to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt this week:
October 15, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about chores. It doesn’t have to be a western ranch chore; it can be any routine task. Go where the prompt leads!
Respond by October 20, 2020. Use the comment section [on the site], read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form. Rules & Guidelines.
Spring or Autumn’s in the air, and our poetmasters clearly could not resist penning an ode or haiku or whoknowswhatthehecktheywerewriting to the seasons. Despite the thrills or chills or desirestorunforthehills they gave, only one walked away as champion.
And that winner is:
Bloody buzzing bees
Faceplant into the window
Congratulations, Writerinretrospect! You are the most terrible poet of the week!
I had great fun reading all these poems! WIR’s struck me as winner above all because of its succinct terribleness; its abbreviated awfulness. This poem addressed the subject, appeared to verse seriously by its form, then proved quite silly after all.
But, that hardly discounts the rest. I laughed aloud at their cleverness, and know you also will:
The mercury is falling
I hope it’s just a cold
Is it destiny that’s calling?
Or part of getting old?
Is it just a shiver?
Or might it be a curse?
That Autumn will deliver
Or will Winter be much worse?
A month of isolation
My social distance getting broad
I’m here for the duration
Already getting bored
There’s bad news in the paper
The TV’s on the blink
I fear the isolator
Might turn this man to drink
My Mama and my Papa
They left here just in time
I cough. I sneeze. I splutter
I’ve been cut down in my prime
So all the sky is grey
And all the leaves are brown
There’s nothing left to say
‘Cause there’s no one left in town
And I want extra points deducted for the blatant theft of ‘California Dreaming’ lyrics.
Springtime in the Dirty South
don’t last fer long
Well hush my mouth!
Magnolia trees are the best part
smell so fresh an’ sweet
ain’t like Bubba-Jean’s dirty feet.
Tiny birds chirp & slurp
the juicy worms
they find in dirt
In a couple weeks
spring is over
and you will sweat
like an ogre.
Cuz now it’s summer.
green things start to grow
when they come out from the snow
so then i must mow
by Deb Whittam
Autumn is comin
But I’ll still be runnin
2 metres from you
Hey lets go to the zoo
See the bats
Drown the rats
Walk the dogs
Bring in the hogs
Leaves are fallin
Winter will come a callin
But we’ll all be in lockdown
So I’ll be up at four
Runnin’ so you can’t see me
for it to arrive
and full of hope
for it all to be better soon
things are new and fresh
a mysterious force has been
and reinvigorated your world
no one asks for this
it happened overnight
a sprouting in functionalities
with the urge to create
the brilliant canvas slowly awakens
your desire for inputs suddenly keener
the power surges within
the crescendo of creative energy builds
and then it stops
Windows 10 Update unsuccessful
Try Again? Y/N
the trees slowly
After fornicating earlier for all they’re worth
in the Spring the animals give birth
Owls spawn owlets
Cows spawn cowlets
if it is comprised of both halves)
Bees pollinate the colorful blooms
Hibernating bears check out of their rooms
Reproduction is that upon which all of nature is built
Didn’t have youngsters? Enjoy your guilt!
The season of Spring
is just about my favorite thing
Although you can bet your bautumn
I prefer Autumn
by The Bag Lady
The dirt road freezes then it thaws
Ruts form in melting causing “awes”
From drivers going way too fast
Veering all ways from first to last
Tires getting stuck in grooves
Cars making unwanted moves
The trip was never meant to be
A closeup visit with a tree.
As the calendula ticks (not to be confused with cattle ticks)
over to the March of the sugar plum fairies
I vow to turn over a new leaf.
But I am de-feated
By the myriad discarded oak appendages
carpet-snaking to my door.
There must be some way out of here
I thought in disbelief.
There’s too much confusion.
I can’t get on relief.
So I sprang forward through
a hole in the daylight-saving curtain
and found, to my re-leaf,
rabbits eating my lettuce seedlings.
Leaves is green,
Summers peachy keen.
Leaves turn yellow,
Mortifies this fellow.
Leaves is red,
Soon be dead.
Winter draws close,
Leaves me morose.
Grey day after day
Springs so far away.
When that wintery sun’s shining
I cain’t see no silvery lining.
A flower flowered
Outside of my door
I knew it must be spring!
I sprang outside
Birds and buds on trees!
It reminded me I need a six-pack
But never mind
The birds on trees!
I go inside
Wash the bird excrement off
I shut the curtains
I open a Bud
When will winter be here again!?!
by Geoff LePard
(follow the link for lovely pictures of Geoff’s garden as well)
Spring has finally sprung
But like a gorilla on an old mattress
It’s barely left the ground
Which is frankly disappointing.
This year’s daffodils
Have wandered off with a poet,
And in need of a good drink.
The lambs have skipped
School in favour of
Cos at least it’s warm.
There’s blossom on the trees
But it’s more like
Than a sign of new birth.
Whoever coined the expression
Hasn’t had his nadger’s iced
By a March north wind.
It bites like a demented rabbit
Denied its conjugal rights
Cos Mrs Flossy has chucked him out
Of the family burrow. Again.
Yeah Spring. It sucks. I’m
Practising self hibernation.
by Ellen Best
Watch them unfurl in the fragileility of spring,
Opening our eyes allowing us to dream.
Sun scoots low to expose streaked windows
and stained tablecloths that soap failled to clean.
Dust motes dance without rythm or beat,
As the light stings our eyes and warms our feet.
lettuce and sweatpeas sprout in soil filled pots
With dafdodills normality comes in restless spots.
But do not be fooled enough to blink or sigh
For Jack with pointy fingers and lazer eyes
Sends snapping frosts throughout night skies.
Burns lime green leaves as black as Magpies eyes
Stomps on plants with leadend boots.
Its plan is clear to freeze the shoots.
Now our gardens spoilled
spring hadn’t sprung
So we begin again
I love the green buds
the flowers too
but they really make me
My head’s full of water
my eyes itch a LOT
I wish flowers didn’t stink
and cause lots of snot
It’s Springtime in Yorkshire
The Sun is still on vacation
Still waiting for it to be a scorcher
Oh the pigging frustration
The path is covered in ice
And I’ve just landed on my bum
Now I’m wearing last nights rice
And I feel a right dumb dumb
The washing on the line is frozen rock solid
The gale force wind screams over the barren field
The weeds and broken branches makes it look so squalid
The poor garden birds hide in the bushes seeking any decent shield
So Springtime is here which means dust down the garden chair
Now I’m off inside to find my extra thick thermal underwear
Early spring and the ground is smushy
Have to get outside and rake like a hussy
Raking the leaves makes me question
Why I didn’t do this last fall in a session
Now my back is breaking
from all the dam raking
Still have more to do
Picking up all the doggie poo
Leaves have to go into big paper bags
Or they won’t pick them up … what a drag
Thank you all. Tune in tomorrow for next week’s prompt.
Inrestrospectawriter: Here’s a badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:
©2020 The poets, and their respective poems.
Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. We’re going on 65 weeks now. Perhaps it’s about time to number by date and stop trying to keep track of age.
If you’re new to these parts or could use a refresher, read my basic outline here. We’re about capturing the soul of a novice whilst hurting the sensibilities of a professional.
Here are the specifics for this week:
You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (April 3) to submit a poem.
Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.
If not, and for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Leave a comment if your pingback doesn’t show up within a day.
Bring June superpowers
And Pilgrim’s pride
Makes me feel like a snowstorm in-
between my apelike toes
The world wakes
©2020 Chelsea Owens
My German grandmother wouldn’t allow a speck of dust to be out of place, let alone her own bedspread. “She puts a pin in the middle,” my father explained, “So the sheets and blankets are even.”
We sat for our Sunday visits in her tiny, tidy front room. I’d look over at my hunchbacked progenitor and wondered how she managed to keep so neat at her age, and in her condition.
“Don’t touch those!” she warned whenever we neared her knickknack shelf.
“Maybe you could play outside,” my mother sighed.
Outside didn’t promise much. The yard held long, thick grass but no swings or slides. The garden was dead; sprayed that way since Great-Grandmother couldn’t pull weeds. The dilapidated, warped-window garage was padlocked; forbidden. At the rear of the property ran a communal watering canal, also forbidden.
My pioneer stock great-aunt, on the other hand, kept a dog. She kept a candy jar. She kept roses.
“Thank you; thank you,” she told us as we pruned her roses. We tried to visit often enough to keep up on the flowers. She couldn’t bend or stoop anymore on account of bad knees, and I could see how it pained her not to kneel beside us in the lush, fragrant garden of bushes.
“Look, Shadow,” she would address her pet, “Some friends to play with you.” As the black poodle wagged his stump of a tail and slid after the old tennis ball we threw, Great-Aunt said, “He just loves it when you come.”
Both ladies aged and moved into care facilities. Both retained their manners and demeanor. “They always serve the same food,” Great-Grandma criticized the staff’s meals. “What a lovely card,” Great-Aunt praised our handmade creations.
I wondered, in my childlike mind, what made for the difference in my elderly relatives. Did my German one behave as she did because of her osteoporosis hunch? Did my rose-loving aunt feel happier because she took a strong dose of medicine for her joints? Or, was there a core personality in each?
What, then, was my core person like?
From what I could see, not good. I related to Mary Lennox of The Secret Garden, described as an odd little thing who did not get along well with people. I had a temper. No one seemed to like me -and that was fine with me! I cried easily, was stubborn about everything, and felt others ought to be forced to do what was ‘right.’
I saw myself in my great-grandmother’s eyes, yet recognized that hers was a repugnant personality.
Still, I seemed unable to change. I still seem unable to change. A counselor told me I could; that mine was a personality of years of learned behavior. My husband thinks I can; that my gloomy outlook is a matter of controllable perspective. I berate myself; saying I ought to be less sarcastic.
Yet, out it comes. Couldn’t dry wit and depressed sarcasm be my core after all?
I’m curious if this is the case with you, my readers. Do you think we have a core personality? What is yours? Have we the ability to change? Have you done so? How?
I’m not sure my relations would approve of what I wrote last week:
Wednesday, September 25: Helped out the rising, driving generation with “11 Adulting Tips About Cars.”
Thursday, September 26: “The Darn Sock Connection, a parody,” a parody on “The Rainbow Connection.”
Saturday, September 28: Announced the 45th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is a tanka about pumpkin spice. Sniff some cloves and ENTER today!
Monday, September 30: An inspirational quote by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.
Tuesday, October 1: “Wilhelmina Winters, One Hundred Six.”
Wednesday, October 2: Today.
Photo Credit: Alex Harvey 🤙🏻
©2019 Chelsea Owens
“The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion.”
“Those who stand at the threshold of life always waiting for the right time to change are like the man who stands at the bank of a river waiting for the water to pass so he can cross on dry land.
“Today is the day of decision.”
-Joseph B. Wirthlin, “Three Choices,” October 2003
“It’s hard to embrace the future if you are continually holding on to who you used to be.”
-Jodi Foster, “Jodi Foster: What I’ve Learned,” Esquire Magazine
“We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.”
Swiped from Damon Ashworth Psychology: “25 Ideas That Could Change Your Life“
“…There are two entirely opposite attitudes possible in facing the problems of one’s life. One, to try and change the external world, the other, to try and change oneself. Although both attitudes are potential in everyone, most of us have become one-sided, biased toward the preferred attitude in most of our dealings…”
-Marion Milner (pseudonym Joanna Field), A Life of One’s Own, Preface.