Gone Phishing

Sarah hosted Quadrille Monday yesterday on dVerse.  This week’s quadrill (a 44-word poem) must include a form of the word ash.  I was going to go in a whole ‘nother direction but then… yesterday’s shit-for-brains moment would not leave me alone.  All’s well that ends well thanks to a co-worker basically saving my sorry ass.  She was already my favourite in this company and I cannot express my gratitude enough for what she did for me.  Thank you, Tania!

Nothing like real life to nudge the muse…

A one thousand dollar error

leaves me sick to my stomach

 

A request seemingly not out of the norm

worded in such a way as to not question

 

Realisation sets in

that I have been played

 

Leaving a taste of ash in my mouth

 

 

 

Groovy is as Groovy Does

On Monday, for dVerse, it was Quadrille Monday (44 words, max), hosted by De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo.  We had to use the word “groove” or a version of it.  I’m way late to the party but on this morning’s walk to work, I encountered this lady and I suddenly felt like participating.  And like my title says, groovy is as groovy does 😉

I cannot help but think of Iris Apfel who, at 100 years of age, has said (Choosing just one was difficult; the proof being that I changed quotes three times!):

“When the fun goes out of dressing, you might as well be dead. You need to pursue your own fancy.”

Both of us on an exercise mission,

cross each other’s paths.

My hello returned with a smile

Your

mismatched olive hat,

purple-striped shirt

and orange scarf,

with wide-legged grey shorts,

black knee-high socks

joining turquoise running shoes

scream

“I’m groovy coz I say so!”

 

Everyday Exotic Beauty

On Monday, Merril was hosting dVerse Prosery.  I love this challenge of using only 144 words to tell a story – not in poetry but in prose, using a phrase supplied.  Merril’s head must have been in the clouds because that is the theme for this one.  We must use the following:

“But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutter

Against the blue cloth of the sky”

              –from “Clouds” by Constance Urdang

Do take the time to read her poem. It is wonderful! (Very short)

Anyway, how could I resist when I so love clouds?  I couldn’t.  That said, I am really late to the party so, without further ado:

Pastel hues greet me as I open my blinds, declaring that, beyond my field of vision, the sun has only just risen.  I dress and step out into the morning and am immediately shrink-wrapped in a second skin of humidity.  The air is thick and there is no breeze to be had.  Nevertheless I set off at a light run, on soundless feet (our karate Shihan taught us to run quietly – no heels! no thuds!)  I make my way along my now-familiar path, feeling I am one with the universe.  My soundscape consists of cawing crows and tweeting birds.  Pastels have given way to vibrant fire by the time I get to the park.   I look up and Oh! But these clouds are clearly foreign.  Such an exotic clutter against the blue cloth of the sky cannot ever be considered plain.  Everyday exotic beauty.

August Rush

Monday was Haibun Monday over at dVerse.  This morning I was feeling the joys of August. This afternoon’s sun was intense.  This evening, the crickets are louder than ever.  As far as summer months go, this one is pretty much my favourite.  So, why not write a little ode to it?

The sun is still up before I am, for now, just not quite as high as it was one month ago.  This morning’s run is in slightly cooler temps.  The light feels softer, the sun’s rays longer.  As the sun rises, so do the heat and humidity, reminding me of those dog days of summer that I cherish, knowing that it’s a question of time before autumn comes in and paints the trees in golds, oranges and reds and when the “fond de l’air” gets chilled.  But for now, August reigns supreme.

The butterflies and bees flitter and buzz about with wild abandon and the bunnies keep me company, sometimes hopping alongside me, most times doing an about-face and leaving me with a vision of a white little puff ball bouncing away.

The darkness comes earlier and the crickets seem to be holding a cacophonous sing off. Which choir is pitch perfect?

August is a rush

Everything is more intense

Last blast of summer

Petite Rivière Rouge

De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo hosted dVerse Quadrille yesterday.  Took me some finagling to get my 44 words to where I was willing to share them.  I shoulda chosen another subject because now my memories have come flooding in and this limitation is causing me grief!

 

Petite Rivière Rouge

where childhood memories were made

 

Pépère¹ bulldozed river rocks;

a sandy cove to protect our feet

 

When not being fished,

crapet-soleil² nibbled our toes

 

Rocks have since rolled back

and the river seems more

like a stream to our adult eyes

 


¹Pépère means “Gramps”

²Crapet-soleil is a fish, that, I just learned, is called Pumpkinseed fish – we are never too old to learn 🙂

MFFP - Poissons du Québec - Crapet-soleil

Resiliency, Thy Name is Noëlla

It was prosery (144 words max, not including the title and no poetry allowed) Monday yesterday for dVerse. I’m late but hey, c’est la vie, I say… Lisa at Tao-Talk is hosting and went down a rabbit hole that started with Alice Walker and her interest in Zora Neale Hurston.  So, Lisa landed on the following quote, which we must use:

No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.

                                      ~Zora Neale Hurston, from “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me” in World Tomorrow (1928).

Reading that phrase immediately brought to mind my grandmother, who was also my godmother, and to whom I have been compared (it thrills me).  No, she never used this phrase but its essence is definitely Noëlla to me.

You were my hero from the moment I was old enough to understand the stories. How you were the eldest of fifteen children and had you a choice, would have had none of your own – yet birthed seven.  How you lived in lumberjack shacks where the sun shone through the cracks and the water froze in the kettle overnight. How you had the strength to leave your alcoholic husband to raise your kids on your own – and were judged for it by the Nuns who taught your kids.  How you survived the death of all three of your sons over the years.  How you became a businesswoman, despite a grade-three education.

“No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.”

I know you were saying it’s up to you to make or break your life.

Happy Face

Mish is hosting dVerse Quadrille today.  We are asked to use a variation of the word “Smudge” – so many ways this word could be used so I went through my photos, looking for inspiration.  Landed on this one and well, just had to use it!

Smeared and smudged

face full of chocolate

Putting on a show

with makeshift microphone

belting out pure joy

at summer’s freedoms

Can it get any better than this?

Childhood is not meant to be

neat and tidy all the time

the hose can wait

 

Getting There

So way back on Monday, Merril hosted prosery Monday, where we have to write an exact 144 words of prose – not poetry – using a phrase chosen from a piece of poetry (isn’t that sneaky?) This time, Merril chose the following line from Jo Harjo’s “A Map to the Next World.”

“Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end.”

Well now. I knew where I was going and then tripped and got busy on other stuff… Determined, I was, to do this baby so here I am! And yes, those who know me, know I am rather obsessed with Tuscany. What can I say? I felt I belonged in the three weeks I spent there!

Getting There

We bought the plane tickets. With cancellation insurance. Which we ended up needing. I knew it, dammit. The thing is, I know better. I know it in my gut that the Universe is always listening… Even when you don’t realise you are sending out the message, she is listening. Needless to say, the plans that were, were no longer. I never expected they’d be erased from the possibility of. Hell, it was no longer even spoken of. That idea had become a dream that I alone was dreaming.

Life is funny, you know. You think in linear terms until you realise what’s crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end. All the variations of the quote about not being about the destination but the journey are muddily clarified as you realise you did make it. All on your own.

Strawberries in June

Kim is hosting dVerse today and has asked us to write about fruit.  Having bought my very first basket of seasonal strawberries, how could I write about anything else? I thought I’d be writing about all the ways to use said fruit but the muse had other plans!

We have become spoiled

That’s what we say, anyway

Strawberries can be had year-round

From all sorts of exotic locations

But really. Tell the truth

Are they really worth it?

 

How can you compare these hard, tasteless,

not to mention oversized “berries”

with those ruby red, juicy

bursts of summer?

 

It starts in a field on a sunny day

You have to crouch to discover where

those beautiful red flavour bombs are

Pick one and bring it to your nose

inhale its distinct scent

Brush off the sand or dirt

Hold it by the stem and bite off the tip

or the whole thing, depending on size

and your level of gourmandise!

The berry is soft yet has some yield

and the tiny seeds add a special crunch

as the juices slide down your throat

 

By the time you’ve had your fill

your fingers are stained

your belly is happy

you might even have berries in a basket!

But you are convinced that

you are once again a kid and

are filled with summer’s essence

 

 

In a Rush For the Flower Moon

Two days later than I wanted to post. Sigh. Life. It does love to throw curveballs at you, doesn’t it?  This one was a doozie and took me two days to recuperate from!  Still… Please pretend we are May 25th – the day I wanted to post it, even if the dVerse prompt came on Monday, the 24th. Frank J. Tassone was the host and the subject was: write a haibun about the Flower Moon – said moon was officially yesterday and somehow, I missed it. Or rather was so sure it was the 25th that I didn’t even think of checking last night.  This moon pic was taken on the 25th, however 🙂

You aren’t due till the summer solstice, possibly near a Strawberry Moon? Probably not.  You are supposed to arrive when roses and and peonies and poppies are in full bloom.  When the tulips and daffodils have already done their thing.

Instead, you decide the Flower Moon is more your style.  You want late spring blooms:  lilacs and rhododendrons, daisies and violets.

Maybe you know your time here will be brief so you want to get a chance to fully experience everything nature has to offer.  Who knows?  All I know is this:  When the day is breezy and I open my bedroom window, the scent of the wild lilac bush right below my window comes up and wafts through my room, reminding me of you. And to think this year was to be your lucky year! Twenty-five years old on the twenty-fifth of May.

A Flower Moon child

In a rush, to see it all

Gone before you could