Category: Self-Improvement

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Open Write Day 1 of 3 November 2025 with Mo Daley of Illinois: Clean Up and Clean Out

Our host today for the first day of the Monthly Open Write for December is Monday Daley of Illinois, who inspires us to write cleaning poems since it is National Clean Up Day. You can read her full post here, along with her mentor poem and the response poems of the writers who participate.

Earlier this year, those in the school district office where I work were saddened to learn that our favorite custodian had taken a job in a neighboring county because of lower wages in our own. We understood. But we grieved that daily absence of one who was more than a custodian to us. She was a friend who shared about her children and the concerns of her country. She was family. She’d given us her number in case we ever wanted to call to have our own personal homes cleaned, which she offers as a service on weekends.

The older I get, the more difficult cleaning is, and if I’ve learned one thing from my father’s aging process, it’s this: stay on top of the cleaning. As I near 60 years of age, I hear my own words of advice to him echoing through the veil of time: “Hire someone. Don’t try to do all this by yourself. There are professionals out there who know what to do and how to do it better than you can.”

So two weeks ago, I called my friend Dianelys to come and meet with me about cleaning. She brought her mother along, the one who loves plants but doesn’t speak any English. I saw her mother giving approving nods to the plants as we walked through the house so I could show her what I would like to have done. I’ve been establishing some Night Blooming Cereus stalks, so I plan to leave one out today with a note for her and her sister in law to take to her mother, on this first day that Dianelys will clean our house with her cleaning partner.

And so today, on this National Day of Cleaning, it seems fitting to write my 6,7 poem to celebrate Dianelys and cleaning.

Taking My Own Advice

I’m taking my own advice,

Dad, doing what I thought you

should have done years ago

you’d be proud of me today

phoning a friend to help

where my abilities now

fall short ~ bending, vacuuming,

scrubbing, shining, polishing ~

I look to the Heavens

offer a gratitude smile

as always, you taught me well

one way or another

this cleaning hits the targets

that need it most ~ for me and

my friend, Dianelys

she’ll be here in two hours

with her mop bucket and rags

so now the mad dash to clean

before the real cleaner comes

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November 3

After a long weekend working in the yard taking advantage of the gorgeous middle Georgia weather, the best remedy for the sore muscles was a Sunday evening glass of wine in my favorite glass. It’s a ruby chalice that belonged to my parents, and I found it as we were cleaning out the house on the heels of Dad’s death back in June. Red was my mother’s favorite color, and so I brought this cup home with me for those wine nights when I need to unwind and relax. I like that there’s not another one quite like it that I’ve seen anywhere – – and that I can remember Mom as I kick back and take it easy at the end of a productive weekend.

Peaceful, Easy Feeling

I have half-filled my ruby chalice

with Sam’s Club Old Vine Zinfandel

the best affordable wine

here in front of the fire

Eagles music plays

my sore muscles

feeling peace

with each

sip

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October 23: Mammogram Day

Mammogram Haiku

here’s a reminder:

get your yearly mammogram

schedule yours today!

Today’s the day – – it’s a squeeze and press kind of morning here in middle Georgia, and I will step bravely up to the cold metal instrument of torture and try my best to relax my shoulder as the images of my left and right breasts are taken. I will breathe, count to three, pray, and think of all the fun I was having a week ago from today as we drove through Cade’s Cove to see bears and other woodland animals, and how a prayer brought a bear and her two cubs right across the road in front of us. What a great morning that was!

Metaphorically speaking, I hope there are no bear sightings today, but if there are, I pray they are tiny little cubs that are caught early.

That is always the hope and prayer of a mammogram, and I send that one up today.

It’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Have you had your mammogram?

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Dirt-Strong-Willed Dogwalking: My Favorite Sport

This month, I continue writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. Today’s post asks about a sport we love -or hate.

My favorite sport is dirt-strong-willed dog walking, and if it ever becomes a competitive sport, I’m going for gold. I’ve been competing against our dog Ollie for several years now, and though I have yet to win, I think every time I hook up the leash that I’m getting close. We have a double leash for two of our boys, and the other is allowed to walk off-leash. Not Ollie. He and Fitz share a double-ended leash, and Ollie pulls on one end while Fitz pulls in the opposite direction on the other end, leaving me as the midpoint referee. My poem today is a nonet, which has nine lines with that many syllables on each line, in ascending or descending order.

Ollie with his favorite toy

Dirt-Strong-Willed Dogwalking Nonet

taking Ollie on a walk involves

sheer tenacity as he pulls

doing his Ollie thing, hard

headed, clumsy, stubborn,

falling in every

grass-covered hole

climbing out

dirt-strong-

willed

Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers
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What are you Waiting For?

This month, I continue writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. Today’s prompt asks the question, “What are you Waiting For?”

Today I offer you a tricube. It’s three stanzas of three lines with 3 syllables.

Let’s Just Be Real

I’m waiting

to retire

next chapters

exciting

relaxing

traveling

reading books

in sweatpants

until noon

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Open Write Day 2 of 3 September 2025

Today’s host at http://www.ethicalela.com’s Day 2 of the September Open Write is Allison Berryhill of Iowa. She teaches high school journalism and is a frequent host of amazing prompts in our writing group. Come read more about Allison and her full prompt here, as she inspires us to write a retelling poem.

I chose to rewrite my favorite childhood poem, Overheard on a Salt Marsh by Harold Monro, as a Shakespearean Sonnet, a fourteen-line poem written in iambic pentameter, where the rhyme scheme is ababcdcdefefgg, with ten syllables per line. Here is the original poem:

Overheard on a Saltmarsh

Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?

Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?

Give them me.

No.

Give them me. Give them me.

No.

Then I will howl all night in the reeds,

Lie in the mud and howl for them.

Goblin, why do you love them so?

They are better than stars or water,

Better than voices of winds that sing,

Better than any man’s fair daughter,

Your green glass beads on a silver ring.

Hush, I stole them out of the moon.

Give me your beads, I want them.

No.

I will howl in the deep lagoon

For your green glass beads, I love them so.

Give them me. Give them.

No.

– Harold Monro (1879 – 1932)

***. ***. ***

Here is my Shakespearean Sonnet:

Nymphs Don’t Play

a goblin glumphed upon a marsh nymph fair

far through the pluff he’d glimpsed a glow of green

such beauty drew him to her, for to stare

pay homage to her globes he hoped to glean

nymph, nymph he glowered, sweetening his gaze

as moonlight cast a truth beam on intent

this young sylph, so accustomed to his ways

was not a stranger to his guileful glint

what are your beads that cast such radiant gleam?

they’re moonbeads, goblin, made of emerald glass

which thereupon his threat suddenly seemed

the type that beckoned kicking goblin ass

and so this marsh nymph, queen of her domain

unleashed unparalleled gonadic pain

-Kim Johnson

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Broccoli

This month, I continue writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. Today’s prompt asks us to describe broccoli to someone who has never seen it before.

How To Save a Fairy

Imagine a miniature

forest with lush emerald trees

a canopy for fairies

sparkling magic beneath

but a foul odor

permeates the land

threatening the fairies

their twinkle-lights fading

in the putrid stench

then the wicked witch

steps from her lair

behind the twisted trees

holding her wrinkled green

fingers up grasping power in the air

her evil laughter beckoning

one brave fairy to come close for a deal

you love children? find them,

find those who will eat of the

foul-smelling trees that will

not harm them but will save you

and my noxious potion spell that will

kill you will only make them grow stronger

so the brave fairy

told the others

who told the birds

who told the woodland critters

who told the house pets

who prompted the parents

to cook all the miniature trees

we call broccoli

and feed them to the children

throughout the land

children in every house balked

but they ate the broccoli

to save their bedtime story heroines

from the evils of the wicked witch

and her foiled fairy fiasco

after dinner, all the mothers took

their pots of boiling broccoli water

to the edge of the woods and

slung the gut-churning water into the

forest, where the fairies watched

from afar and glowed brightly

as the screams of the witch

could be heard throughout

Fairy Land: “I’m melting! I’m melting!”

And that is why children, to this day,

will eat their broccoli – to save a fairy!

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Alone

This month, I continue writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. Today’s prompt inspires us to write about where we feel most alone.

I feel most alone

in a thick crowd

silly, I’m sure it seems, but

the trees and birds

hold greater friendship

than a sea of ten thousand

faces without names

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Good At

Last month, I started writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I continue this month to forge through the deck. Today’s prompt inspires us to tell something we are good at.

I was never good

at facing the truth but am

good at telling it

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Suffering

Last month, I started writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, and I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts.Today’s post asks us to consider all the ways people suffer.

I’m not in a mindset to write as much about suffering since I’ve seen my father’s suffering through illness and death so recently – and it has left some raw wounds not yet healed – but I am in a mindset of certainty that once the suffering is over, there is great reward and comfort in the arms of a loving Heavenly Father. I can imagine the desserts at the buffet are pretty tasty, too, and calorie-free, but I have appealed to the Lord to please ban Dad from the dessert table until we get his house and storage rooms cleaned out. I have a secret hope that there is a big screen TV in Heaven and he’s having to sit in a time-out chair and watch us clean it all out while all the other angels up there are swooning over the cakes and pies. We asked Dad so many times to please let us help him clean up and get some affairs sorted out, but we were always met with his insistence that he had it under control. And his attitude.

His definition of ‘under control’ and ours were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Nothing was under control. Most things in his house, health, mind, and world were, in fact, spinning out of control. This, too, I’m convinced, was all a part of his suffering in not being able to admit he could no longer function – – and having too much pride to accept the help he so desperately needed.

I’m convinced: we are all suffering. If we were to all sit in a circle and generate ideas about the order of the worst kinds of suffering, we might could gnaw all the meat off the bone with our stories.

And then, there is Romans 8:18: For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. And herein lies a Haiku to remind us of this truth:

all the suffering

cannot compare to the joy

of Heaven’s blessings

Amen.