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Just shooting the poop with Lori |
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He travels the world on the backs of others Insignificant in his stature and size His journey carries no mission Randomly roaming at the will of his host Sated enough to never question his trek Life is an open adventure without worry If the excitement of his dusty trail dulls Another bus awaits to grant passage With a furry friend to carry him home Ah the wonderful life of a flea |
| Hello, world! It is Wednesday blog day all across the country. Get your thoughts together and chime on in. Tell us how you're feeling. Write a poem about your favorite pet. Sing a song about the fungus between your toes. Nicely describe the anger you felt about the guy who cut you off in traffic. Script the heartache of your life. Allow your memories to overflow. Describe the bugs journey across the pavement. Create characters, raw and real. Revive a story of the pumpkin patch with ghouls and goblins. Think, imagine, and create! Today is the day! Then notify Hallmark to start printing cards. I have instituted a new Holiday. Make it so! |
| He is furry, smart, and oh so cute. I swear he is related to Scooby Do with the grunts, groans, howls, and moans. He is the same color brown with shards of black and has the same kind of snout. He carries on conversations better than most people I know. He's loyal and loving and a protector of us all. His name is Dimitri and today he is two. Happy Birthday to one fine dog. You bring us joy every day. |
Teenagers Rock! It boils and bubbles with gastric troubles Inedible garbage passed through his gullet With pungent fumes that linger in wake Make no mistake I felt the earth shake Teenagers Rock! Sounds of running water heard from the hall All signs pointing to privy’s overflow Acres of paper thrust down its throat Pee-trap unable to ingest the debris Teenagers Rock! I plunge and I plunge, to no avail Plumber summoned to mend my commode He snakes and drains, tossing me the bill His knowing wink means he owns one too Teenagers Rock! As I exit the room, I trip over a shoe Crash into the wall my shoulder jacked I fall to the floor in pain and woe Smiling at me, a foot fungised Nike Teenagers Rock! He’s out the door with a grumbling farewell Cursing curfew and the rules we’ve made Grumpy and snide such remarks he makes As he asks for the car keys and a tank of gas Teenagers Rock! Once back at home the fridge he raids No chip untouched, every taco shell crunched He boils and bubbles with gastric troubles Lord, help me please, our cycle repeats Teenagers Rock! He climbs into bed, sleeps like he’s dead His adenoids gurgle a deafening snore Thoughts of grizzlies and ogres fill my head Slumber undisturbed, he’s home safe and sound Teenagers Rock! |
| So what brings you here? Think about it, is there one decision made that brought you to this place in time? Do you give credit to your past for your present? Regret is the kiss of death but would rather see yourself somewhere else? Are you struggling to get to the platform of your expectations? Have your dreams changed from the time of your youth? Contemplation, if done correctly, can illicit satisfaction and calm. Thank the good Lord for the forks in your road and the strength you found to face them. |
| It's Friday! Get up, Get out and have some fun! Life is too short to be meek. Raise some h...l and dance the night away. Spend time with loved ones and above all laugh. Make it an exciting event. BTW. the word above was only simulated, I have been previously censored for my use of colorful vocabulary. |
| Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards. Soren Kierkegaard Above is the famous quote that I once read and it comes to mind today. Perspective is a teacher unto itself. I grasp that more each day as I watch my kids work their way through the start of their adulting. I know things that I don't even remember where I learned them but they remain buried in my head. Some of the facts stuffed in this old brain are useless and the basis of a personal opinion imparted by someone I admired, my mother. The funniest thing she told me in an adamant tone during our time together was that I should only use red potatoes. I remember trying to pass that tidbit onto my daughter and her questioning me about the reason. When I thought about it, I realized I had no clue of why only red potatoes were to be used. It was just a belief that my mother held dear and was probably passed onto her by her mother. I have since tried other potatoes, but guess what? I like the flavor found in red potatoes best. I digressed into a potato field somewhere! My point is this, looking back is fun but looking forward offers opportunity. Growth comes from refusing to remain stagnate. Learn the lessons from the past with an open heart to embrace the future. I pray that I have somehow imparted that little tidbit onto my kids. I want them to reach the stars but be grounded in faith and family. I hope the lessons I taught are centered around the truly important things that life holds. |
| I have scripted and sculpted so many poems in my lifetime that I catch myself speaking in rhymes, at odd and unusual times. Poems of my heart tend to explode when my lips spill over in the form of an ode Uncontrolled prose from my mouth like a river it flows. People find it strange as the words I arbitrarily rearrange. Lyrical in form, my recitals sing like a psalm. Weird though it seems, my words dance all soothing and calm Without ever having to rehearse, my beak blurts out in tempered verse My monologue composed in a sonnet, a fluke pulled out from under my bonnet. My discourse an epic ballad, crafting thoughts I deem valid. I do not know from where this freak of nature stems, but from undercover, I have discovered some gems. I often worried if a tumor pressed on some nerve in my brain, as I battled poetry's untimely refrain. I ditched the stress, my rhymes will not be suppressed. Words are the name of my game and never shall I be ashamed. |
| Another police officer shot and killed with the loss felt across the country. It is a devastating day for a family, the police department, and a community. Dire are the consequences to society when one person of service is silenced. At first glance, it seems a mere drop has evaporated from a very large pond but it is the quality of its contents that is lessened. One sweet drop of goodness gone far too soon from this earth, at a time when so much of it is needed. A man devoted to the protection of his city stripped away from his loving family, is indeed a heartbreaking story. But beyond that is what it means for all of us. We have again lost one more person that was dedicated to fighting the good fight. The bullets of the criminal carved away at the essence of goodness but standing together to honor the fallen offers resolve. It is how we carry forward with the memory of a police officer, a husband, a father, a son, a friend and a human being that heals. Avoid a fight of politics and anger. Instead, voice support of the people left behind to mourn. Stand proud next to his comrades that remain. Keep fighting the good fight as he did. |
| The Story of the .22 There is velocity wrapped in my nature. My momentum is forceful, a character trait visible in magnitude. Engaged descriptors define me as powerful. My trajectory targets the offender. I hold no prejudice in discharging my duty. Death's blame lies not with me, but with my holder. My voice is explosive with people left to heed its recoil. Proportional is my direction aimed at malice. Expedient is my judgment, delivered swift and accurately, in the acquittal of my task. I am both feared and revered. Throughout history, my story is repeated over and over. Heralded in books and tabloids, my exploits loom large. Credited with the massacre of one or the travesties of a multitude, my tale is avowed. Truth becomes buried behind details and sentiment, as the saga unfolds. My marksman is exonerated, with his acts left unseen. Blind is the justice that attributes my evil. I am who I am, made solely for the intent of a purpose. I am the dubious tool of destruction or the affirmation of life. The pointed debate follows the conclusion of each new story. I am endorsed or despised as the tide's trend fancies. My escapades that I relate here and now are small glimpses of testimony. They are video clips, tiny bytes of my story, to explain away guilt. It is you who will eventually judge me. Personal perspective and discernment will cast my lot. My balance hangs not in the hands of one but of a society. The argument will never cease as long as the holder is left unaccountable. Yesterday, I met a man named Alex. He lived a substandard life in a crime-ridden neighborhood. Alex wanted only to better himself. Each day he worked a job he hated. He rode the bus to a school for a chance at an education. He kept his head down while plowing ahead. He planted goals for the people he loved. It was on the bus that carried him to classes, I was introduced to Alex by Robert. It was a rude and callous introduction. I knew nothing of Alex's hopes and dreams until the aftermath. Robert was a drug addict in search of his next score, for which he needed money. My greetings were presented to Alex in ghastly fashion. Alex fell to the ground upon meeting me. His corpse riddled with holes from which blood oozed lay motionless. His wallet containing two dollars and pictures of three small smiling children fell beside him. Robert snapped up the money as he ran. My job was completed without remorse. A few years ago, I met a woman named Eleanor. She was the wife of a farmer. Her husband worked late nights in the fields and worried about her safety when left home alone. He gave me as a gift, one fine Christmas, to his bride. Eleanor was trained in high efficiency in my use. One quiet evening, two men broke into the farmhouse bungalow. Eleanor was raped and beaten viciously. As the men ransacked the house and debated on whether the woman would live or die, Eleanor grabbed me by my barrel. I was swung into action blowing off the heads of the intruders. No feeling of sadness or loss did I ascertain. Eleanor screamed in terror from the misery of her ordeal and her confiscation of human life. Michael had just joined the Boy Scouts when I met him. He had learned to hunt at his father's knee. We spent many days together in target practice, acquiring safety badges, and hanging from a tree awaiting the kill of a deer. My endeavors were guided through the site Michael viewed. I did not cry for the deer nor applaud the awards. Michael grew up to be a keeper of the law and protector of people. In my time of service, I have been the testifier of school shootings. I have bore witness to abhorrent crimes against people. I have provided food for many. I have protected and served. I have defended the weak and lay wreckage on the innocent. It is often I, that am questioned and challenged. My crimes were committed without sensibility. I say to you, it is the holster that bears blame or glory. I am the bystander and spectator of good and evil. I come in many forms. My uses are varied, dependent on the aspirations of the holder. I am a .22 caliber gun. No evil exits my rifle barrel, it is hidden behind the lens. Tied for Weekly Winner at Screams! Thanks, Angus Word count 748 |
| All of my kids were under one roof for a day. It was so nice having the whole family together again. Unlike when they were little, there was no fighting or arguing. It was so enjoyable watching them interact as adults. Made me proud to be their momma. |
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