Text: ICYMI

(A doggerel in the voice of a cantankerous correspondent; Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #197 using the word “call” in a prose or poem of exactly 41 words.)

Photo by Torsten Dettlaff from Pexels

I called, you missed it
That’s just the short of it
I won’t pitch a fit
We’ll just call it quits
Before another snit
No love lost, not a bit
Been looking for an exit
ICYMI: in case you missed it.

Photo by Andrew LaBonne from Pexels

Broken

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio from Pexels

I am one of those who stands amazed at how good we Americans are at hating each other. (An article I read in Tablet Magazine sums it up pretty well.) We aren’t completely broken as a nation, but we’re getting there — and fast, thanks to the usual suspects who stand to profit from our wounds.

Doomed with seeds of death
Larvae in the heart of the nation
Infecting as we feed
Tenacious in our sanctimony
Pauciloquent in offering peace
Grandiloquent in stirring discord
Blind worms blindly devouring
Hope, love, understanding,
Inflicting pain in a fractured society
Never as fervent for another’s dignity
As for ourselves, trampling harmony
Freedom to disagree without fear
Never overcoming what we are
Broken by prideful venom
At the core of every human heart.

“Avoid going entirely tree-blind,” writes the author of the article above. “Make a friend and don’t talk politics with them. Do things that generate love and attention from three people you actually know instead of hundreds you don’t.”

#WWP (73 words, "tenacious"); #WOTD ("pauciloquent")

A Light(hearted) Perspective

It’s the weekend, right? Let’s relax and party, maybe do a little rap for Michelle’s #JanuaryWritingPrompts (“space juice”), Sammi’s #WWP (100 words, “crucible”), and Linda’s #JusJoJan & #SOC (“limitless”). Hope you enjoy it! ❤️

Photo by Anjana C from Pexels

I know what you’re thinking
You say I’m just dreaming
Maybe drinking space juice
Telling me
you’re cool
too loose
so intellectual
not buying puffy clouds
of television charlatans
but you’re at Oprah’s book club
sold on a Joseph Campbell
mythic spiel of deity.

Listen, I’m not crazy
look at what’s been given me
my faith, a light leading me
through this dark crucible called life
I can see glory
where you deny the invisible
chasing material illusions
hanging on to your blinders
chained down, walled up
by circumstance
when you could be glorying
in the limitless grandeur¹
of God.


¹Ecclesiastes 3:11
Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.

Oracle: Henry I’s Daughter Speaks

Oracle: Henry I’s Daughter Speaks

A daughter born on the wrong side of the blanket
given to a Count in marriage
a political alliance for my father
who gave my daughters away as hostages
and another king’s son held as bond
in my hands: my hands! O servants of the air!
Promptly did I have his eyes put out.
As promptly did Henry allow my daughters’
eyes blinded, their noses cut off as revenge –
Do you wonder? So power-hungry progenitors
bequeath the sacrifice of the innocent
to this day.


Henry I was king of England from c. 1100– 1 December 1135. Historian Charles Spencer describes this brutally cruel event in his book The White Ship

Not While I’m Eating

Please no histrionics at the dinner table
Wait till we’re on a flight to Tahiti
Maybe the opera house in Sydney,
The Tower of London with Yeoman Warders,
On River Street in Savannah, Georgia,
Somewhere in Portland or Philadelphia,
Just wait till I finish my dinner in peace.

Sammi's Weekend Writing Prompt #181
word prompt: "histrionics"; word limit: 48