Adventure : A Blackout Poem

Wander into the labyrinth
Venture beyond the main avenues to
Find adventures
Thanks for a great month of writing! Until next time – cheers for the journey! 

 

Confusion

 

Metaphor Dice Poetry 

I enjoy using Taylor Mali’s Metaphor Dice to get me started on a roll….


Confusion

Confusion is an insecure thunderstorm,

the kind that uproots 

long-established landscape 

and makes a person 

wonder whether 

the things that were 

once important 

still are. 



There is a boxed version – even an erudite set – and also an app! Here are examples, below. I used the app today and changed one word. 



Happy Birthday! 🎂

 



Happy Birthday! 

My middle child of my Octane Trio born in the gas pump years 1987, 1989, and 1993 called me this morning after we’d played phone tag while he was moving his family into their new house on the South Carolina coast on his birthday yesterday. 

“Mom, I had a wonderful birthday – ate a huge plate of crab legs at The Boathouse for dinner last night. But we got into a long conversation about who exactly should be wished a happy birthday. And I want to congratulate you on having me. Happy birthday, Mom. You did all the birthing. I just showed up.  So happy birth day.” 

This is my most polite child, the one who always thinks of others before himself.  He admitted to two beers with dinner. 

“So how old are you, Mom?” 

I told him. 

“Holy cow! You need to retire. Travel. See the world while you still can…..” 

I reminded him that I’ve seen a lot of the world already and that his stepfather is six years older than I am. 

Long pause. 

“Jesus is coming, anyway, Mom. He’ll be here soon, but I just hope He waits until we’ve had some time to enjoy the new house. And until you’ve traveled  some more.”  

Another long pause. This is our love language – and there’s an unforgettable reason for the pi$$ing match. I say this to him every single year on his birthday: “Let me remind you that you entered this world peeing all over your own mama!” 

We laughed together and said our I love yous before we hung up…..just as we do every time he calls at random and unexpected times to say that he loves me and to tinkle on my day, filling my heart with joy. 

Peace Camp

 


Peace ☮️ 🏕 Camp

If you ever wonder 

whether peace can exist 

in a diverse world, 

visit a campground! 

On campsite 72 

in Tugaloo State Park 

along the shores 

of Lake Hartwell 

this morning, 

birds and dogs and people

have lively conversations. 

An artist’s palette, 

colorful birds 

sing out in varied calls 

to greet the day.

All sizes and breeds of dogs 

from pampered spa types 

to those ruff at the tattered coats 

ask and answer.

People of all 

races, religions, and income brackets-

as likely to occupy a pup tent 

as a motorhome – 

dwell side-by-side, 

exchanging stories and hacks, 

sharing food and firewood. 

If you ever wonder 

whether peace can exist 

in a diverse world, 

visit a campground! 

Seam Ripping

 

Seam Ripping 

I remember learning to sew. You were so patient, teaching me to stitch seams on the machine and to hem by hand. Zippers were out of the question too hard for me at eleven years old, but I did manage buttons and sash ties. I remember getting so frustrated one time – I couldn’t make the terry cloth shorts work; I’d sewn the wrong pieces together and I was in a crying fit about having to rip the seams out. 

I threw the lime green shorts down and stormed off to my room, burying my head into my pillow. You didn’t follow as I expected you to do and it taught me that if I were going to succeed with anything, I had to learn to deal with mistakes along the way. Sure, it taught me to pick up the pieces when they fall apart at the sewing machine, but it transferred to other areas of my life. Now, when mistakes happen,, I plan a course of action, get out my seam ripper, and work on fixing it.  

Reasons

 

Still inspired by Kevin’s one-sentence slice! 

Reasons
Do our dogs get all tail-waggy and lose their minds when we start loading the camper because they enjoy a crackling fire pit, or is their joy – like mine of a picnic basket – not the grapes and cheese but the thrill of spending cherished time together, of turning our eyes toward each other instead of our screens?