
Reduced Speed Ahead
crave different days
not working deadline-driven
not governed by clocks
seems all or nothing
drowning in a swift riptide
too tired to love life
sacrificing hearts
of days just to earn a wage
what’s a better way?

Patchwork Prose and Verse

Reduced Speed Ahead
crave different days
not working deadline-driven
not governed by clocks
seems all or nothing
drowning in a swift riptide
too tired to love life
sacrificing hearts
of days just to earn a wage
what’s a better way?

we could take lessons
from chickens in a dust bath
shaking it all off
instead dwell in mud
wallowing unforgiveness
pig kin bickering
get out of the mire
unstuck from the yucky muck
before it’s too late!
*inspired by a recent sermon heard on YouTube

Dave Wooley is our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for the 16th day of #VerseLove, inspiring us to write seven- line poems called Kwansabas. You can read his full prompt here, along with the poems and comments of others.
Dave describes this process:
The Kwansaba is an African-American poetic form that was created by Eugene Redmond in 1995. It is inspired by the seven days of Kwanzaa and it is a praise poem.
The rules of the form are:
-it is a seven line poem,
-each line is seven words in length,
-each word is seven letters or less,
-and the poem should be a praise poem
He’s Back
today I praise this dim quiet spot
this sweet spot, still, fan breeze blowing
air on my face: my current view
is the ceiling and flutter eyelid blinks
because Vertigo demands all of my being
ghost thief of time, work, family dinners,
but mark my words: still, I’ll rise


Our host today at http://www.ethialela.com for Day 10 of #VerseLove2024 is Joanne Emery, who inspires us to borrow ideas and lines from another poem to inspire our own. You can read her full prompt here, along with the poems and comments of others.
She explains her process: Find a line in the poem that stands out to you, expresses something about yourself. Then continue the poem while reflecting how you live your life.Â
We used Jane Hirschfield’s poem My Life Was the Size of My Life, and I borrowed this line from hers:
and closed its hands, its windows
I also chose one from Joanne’s poem Larger than My Life
with perfect white teeth, smiling
Keystones
our house with keystones
with perfect white teeth, smiling
to raise our children
you pulled all its teeth
and closed its hands, its windows
we bloomed in the dark
A week ago, Lainie Levin posted an announcement that I wish could be reposted every day. Below, she states that engaging with others is the single most powerful thing that builds community during this challenge.
I emailed her immediately to ask if I could repost this announcement. She readily agreed.
Which brings me to a connection that stopped me in my tracks. I was having a conversation with the Poetry Fox as we were working out the details of his visit to Georgia from North Carolina. I asked him to describe what his events look like, and he told me that he sits at his typewriter and writes on-demand poetry for people who give him a word. He said, “And really, it’s not even about the poem. It’s about the connections I make and the people I get to meet. Those moments of connecting with someone are what it’s all about.”
I’ve thought about this again and again as I have returned to the conversation and the blog announcement and reflected on the power of connection. This community would be nothing without it. I realize that when I wake up during March and get to open the blogging windows and drink my coffee with an entire community and we’re all talking to each other about the slices of our lives and what is happening, there is power in these moments. We may all be tired and worn thin some days, but I know things about you – the people in my community – and I know many of your family members and how you spend time.
I know Paul likes to cook and actually likes Brussels sprouts (I thought I was the only one), Glenda likes to travel and has a voracious appetite for adventure (and will be having quite an adventure today – – I won’t spoil her surprise, but be on the lookout for something uniquely and colorfully …..uplifting)! Denise hikes in the desert and has a stargazer window in her house, Fran watches birds and is teaching her little granddaughters to love them too, Maureen also has two young granddaughters who love music and art and the outdoors, Peter is beginning to grieve the loss of a loved one and many of us are keeping his family close in our thoughts, Barb loves poetry slams and art exhibits and spending time outdoors, Sally checks in on her mom and has a granddaughter with new shoes, Margaret lives on the bayou and has the cutest ducks that jump into the water on jump day, and Joanne loves flowers and gardening. And I’m getting to know each of you, too!
Even though we all live in different places across the nation and beyond, I imagine a high rise brick apartment building where we’re all sitting in an open window chatting, waving, greeting each other at the start of the day, and smiling, rather like we might look from windows on the cover of the New Yorker if someone illustrated all of us in one drawing. We’d see floral window boxes for the green thumbs, cats and dogs with the animal lovers, and food cooking on the stoves of the culinary artists. We’d see children playing with grandmothers and, in a Paul Fleishman Seedfolks-ish kind of way, we’d all be connecting, contributing in beautiful ways to the community vegetable garden and sharing what we have to share, helping as we can, reaching out as we have needs that others can help meet.
Connection. Conversation. Sharing. Caring, Responding in kindness. Giving. Living.
Because that’s what community and connection are all about, and it’s also what writing is about – – reaching the next person. Not the word choice, not the capitalization of proper nouns, and not the run-on sentences (which, like Brussels sprouts, I love, by the way).
Thank you for these marathon days in March where we build our own neighborhood, and the Tuesdays throughout the year where we keep in touch! And to the owners of the Slice of Life apartment building for letting us move in for a month, rent-free, a huge debt of gratitude is owed for all of your hard work in keeping the lights on and the water running.
You each make a difference!
Slice of Life Challenge
Slice of Life Challenge
community connections:
open your windows!
pour a cup of tea
share family recipes
show trip photographs
compare hobby notes
reveal hopes and dreams
share fears and shed tears
open your windows!
connect with fellow writers
plant seeds. water them.

Shelley of Oklahoma is our host today for the final day of the March Open Write, encouraging us to write poems to help us relax. You can read her full prompt here. I have one of those conferences today – the kind in a town with a gas station and a stop sign and maybe a hot dog in the gas station and nothing else, and I’m driving in with coworkers from an hour and seven minutes northeast, and I’m not overnighting so I have to leave early and get home late and I know the coffee’s gonna suck because it always does when they have those plastic canisters of powdered creamer and only pink-packet off-brand sweetener.
But I’m trying to relax.
Really.
Frumpy
Relax - no one cares
whether your pants match your shirt
or that they're wrinkled
Relax - no one cares
that the tops of your feet are
white as unbaked bread
Relax - no one sees
you picking at your fingers
of chipped nail polish
Relax - no one knows
your Odor Eaters are now
expired by three months
Relax - just because
you forgot to tweeze your lip
doesn't mean don't go
After all: you're the
driver....others are counting
on you to get there
Relax - your oil got
changed, your gas tank's full and your
car is vacuumed out
Relax - your riders
might find your car is cleaner
than theirs (not driven)
Relax - wait, is that
.....is that a seam coming out?
It's right on the butt
Nope, don't relax. Go
change pants. Nothing clean? That's what
long sweaters are for.
Heck, grab a blanket
and wrap up like a student
.....relax for a change!
Rex Muston of Iowa is our host today for the 4th day of the March Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. He inspires us to use our kitchen junk drawer to inspire poetry. You can read his full prompt here.
A kitchen junk drawer is second only as frightening to me as forgetting a piece of clothing and showing up at work for everyone to see all truth. It’s downright scary except for the drawer I did clean out last weekend. I still have one to go, and it’s the worst one. An invitation to explore those quirky drawer corners is fantastic! I love that even in the oddities, the junk, there are revelations of life and memories.
Unbanded
One junk drawer
is empty
~the middle one~
but the one
on the edge
is chock-full
of random bits
and pieces
a years’ supply
of 9V batteries
for the
smoke alarms
we change
often
because
Boo Radley shivers
at the smell of
toaster heat and
smoke alarm chirps
plus the goat ball
banding tool
and bright orange
bands
as if the
whole horrid
thing
needed a
screaming
fluorescent
proclamation
across the farm
and a vintage
unfiltered
cigarette-
sized box of
Happy Family
ceramic pigs
from England
a mama
and twin
piglets
but no daddy
there was never
even a space
for his
unbanded
self
now
from the
Funny Farm
kitchen
windowsill
Mama smiles
with a sparkle-eye
bats her eyelashes
and thinks….
freedom!
Today, Wendy Everard of New York is our host for the third day of the March Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com, inspiring us to write Double Dactyls. You can read the process of writing a dactyl and her full prompt here. I found writing dactyls to be like the bludger in Harry Potter. You hold on for the ride, hope you don’t get knocked off your broomstick as it tests your sport, and hope to make it through the game.
My husband is the Mudbog King, as I’ve come to call him. He got both of our cars stuck one Christmas morning, and I think he did it on purpose just because he loves getting stuck and calling a buddy to come help. All these boys in the country seem to live for the phone call: “I’m stuck. Bring a chain and pull me out!” The only thing better than getting that call is making it – and to get double-stuck on Christmas morning just seemed like the biggest present under the tree. Hence, my Double-Axle Double Dactyl.

Double-Axle Double Dactyl
muckery-muddery
Mudbog King's stuck again!
John Deere hailed - Johnson bailed
(boys spin to win)
ecclesiastical
gospelized dirt road hymns
banjos pick - mud's still slick
(boys clog tire rims)
boys stack hay ~ then......they play!
jacked-up truck = magnet-muck
climb inside! take a ride!
(costs not one buck)
hold on tight! brace yourself!
Johnson's gon' show his stealth
mud rainbows = bumper spray
(filthy trucks = health)

Forget finery.
Could we value family?
Prioritize worth.
Because in the end
~when life’s regrets take firm hold~
possessions don’t care.
OLW = Pray. Diopter Word = Release. Today I’m praying for things to always take a back seat to the people in my life. The worth or value of possessions can demand more of our investment of time and energy, and I’m praying that this never takes root in my own life. The stories many of my friends share in their challenges with their aging parents who struggle to let go of the past and move forward shines an unwelcome spotlight on priorities – and the degree to which they are a priority. Enough is plenty and preferable, as Robin Wall Kimmerer in Braiding Sweetgrass explains, and I pray I never amass an anchor of belongings that gets in the way of what is most important.
Today, I begin a season of release and pre-spring cleaning. Starting in my own attic. 
Today at http://www.ethicalela.com, Britt Decker of Houston, Texas is our host for this fourth day of the February Open Write. You can read her full prompt and the poems of others here as she challenges us to write letters (epistolary poems) to our younger selves.

When anyone with human flesh
gives you advice
look them straight in the eyes
and say ~firmly~
I’ll take it into consideration.
Do not take it as gospel.
Guard yourself.
Do your own research.
They aren’t experts.
Live your own life
not the one they choose for you.
Notice more,
especially the
hands
in photos (it’s the unseen key
that will slap you
~hard in the face~
like a wet whaletail
when you finally see).
Don’t believe a single promise.
Above all,
practice your mother’s discernment.
She knew.
She knew.
