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 |   A terminal for all blogs coming in or going out. A view into my life. |
Started July 1st 2019 for contests, etc. as other blogs are filling up and have other purposes.  I'm starting a new blog because
I'll be linking to
I've started an appendix (I no longer have one personally) to keep track of my Space Cadet journals for Space Blog. It's a work constantly under construction. Mind the mess.
I needed to start a folder for contests as there are so many deadlines and details to remember.
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| September week 1 "The Daily Poem"  7 daily poems. Did one."Charlie Chaplin Chews Chocolate Chutney" Did 6:Alliteration uh? about a book, alone alot, awake, a Wookiee awoke or not.  Sara shimmied out of her shift, shimmered in the moonshine's shadow as she shaped the shades into shields, showered the winter's night with starlight. Wednesday's willow-witch: when will the whale's whispers allay my woes and heal my wounds. Make me a Man, from the Muggle's mud, or a Monster from the Maggot's minions, Oh, Mighty One. Ibrahim of Iberia: an itch indicated injury, its indigo infestation invading my inner impotence, importance its illusion, its ichor imbuing ignorance, leaving me an idiot, irrelevant and illiterate, as any insane innocent can witness. Don't say ixnay. Oh, the irony. Ding, dong, dilly, dally, deep in the dells of Derry, dearie. Die in the depths of dearest Derry, oh delicious daring Dellie. THE BIG ONE "Quotation Inspiration: Official Contest" Quotation Inspiration Prompt for September 2022: "I've always loved the first day of school better than the last day of school. Firsts are best because they are beginnings." -- Jenny Han One young friend dead in an accident, one friend's father dead of old age. It went downhill from there. By the third week of the semester I had drowned my sorrows in a thousand page book and a roadtrip to Connecticut. I'd done well the previous semester. As and Bs and the promised C in Spanish. A roommate I liked a got along with. Now I had a roommate and dorm-mates who loathed me. I was so upset I flunked the first exam in my major. I wanted out. Should: Gervic's Candle: I would weep for you if I could, wax melting as vanilla filled the air with its luscious flare. I would gladly give my life to light your way. Trim my wick! Find a match! I'm waiting to brighten your day. Inhale my fragrance I waft your way. As my wax melts think of the gift of giving and how I longed to warm your night hugging/forgiving/living/sinning/beginning/stripping/shipping/sniffing/kissing/cuddling like the sun's halo/kiss/kissing warmed your day. "2022 Poetry" Piano (hitting the high note, the low note, your limitations now surpassed), plus wellness and improvement. "Into The Darkness " Death in the Key of C https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dP5KWdyRpHM https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qiaz1e2lNqo https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLx6fnxQw_k https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frxT2qB1POQ  ~~Image #2279787 Sharing Restricted~~ "Spirits at Lighthouses Challenge" The Window Washer? Did they die? Does the spray wash them now?Ingrid, heir apparent to the House of Indiana admired the view of Lake Michigan. She imagined that it admired her, her unbraided hair, her wild laughter. She had no visitors, only a delivery service that came cloaked in darkness once a fortnight and left food by the dock, always scurrying away before she could ask who they were. When she heard the soft slap of the oars she hurried to get the food before the circling gulls had a chance. A prison is a prison, no matter how pretty the view. And it was a magnificent view in all 4 directions. At dusk and dawn she'd look at the sky and converse with the clouds. She wasn't crazy, just lonely. A cat or a crow would've been an excellent companions, even a ghost would do. If there were any they hadn't manifested themselves. Ingrid knew the melody of the seasons as winds played symphonies of stormy crescendos and calm interludes, as waves sprayed foam at the windows, decorated the eaves with icicles, erased her ennui. So she set aside some flour to bake a loaf of bread, then fished for her daily supper. She looked north toward Superior. Was her uncle snowed in yet? He too languished in a lighthouse, left to chat with the gulls. Were they as troublesome as these? Did the cackle? *** He came to her in a dream then rowed to the landing in a dinghy. It was a calm day, nary a gull in sight, the fish not biting. He was better than any fish she had seen in a long long while. A bit ragged but hungry enough, or polite enough, to not complain about the day-old rind of rye she offered him. Bread and water for a morsel of news. He was more interested in the weather. But, she insisted. He grunted about the cranky new king, the old cranky princess, the recent war. War? How could she see no signs? Ingrid insisted that he spill the beans or spend a night. He spilled one bean at a time for a week. When the delivery boat came there was no sign of his dinghy, no sign that anything was amiss. She'd put out the flag as usual and attached a note that she needed more flour... and salt, if they could... The next week they fished, tying the gutted fish by their tails, hanging them in pairs on a pole in a room as far away from theirs... yes, they were getting along as it were. And the windows sparkled as never before. *** A dinghy could row out as well as row in; but there was nowhere safe to go. So they decided to stay and make the best of it. She finally got a letter from her aunt crowing that her uncle had finally, fortunately died and that the new king had set her free! Ingrid shed a tear at her glee and vowed not to respond. The flour and salt kept coming, the boatswain even showed his face one day and a crew member showed her more. She wasn't interested. She had had bigger and better and her portruding belly vouched for that. She didn't dare let them see that. They delivery boys, as she called them, were being less careful. She wasn't fooled. She remembered their faces from long ago, and they weren't friends. So they were careful. Fishing on days away from the shore. Cleaning one window at a time. Managing the tiny garden and the plants harbored inside. The dried fish were reduced to flakes, fish guts thrown to the gulls or fed to the worms in the compost heap along with any seaweed they could gather. Soon... they would have three mouths to feed. If he could enjoy the making and she could endure the baking then both could figure out how to ensure the birthing. ... Tethys/Thalassa they named her, princess of her tiny kingdom empress of the waves *** 9 Years had passed and her parents passed too 7 as she looked out at the waves 9 and planted crops and fished the waters 6 gently tended their graves 9 months of ennui enduring the calm 6 thrilled by the ice storm's rage 9 She was the window-washers' daughter 6 trapped in her crystal cage *** "RWB Presents: WDC 24th BD Poetry Event " so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens Him-a-cane while the thunder makers hang out north- north-east earl the nekkid swirl pirouettes ponders his uncertain / a Bolshoi debut. future YCC: arnldziffel > SoonerShawn "Earl the nekkid Swirl" If you must... blame arnldziffel > SoonerShawn: "Earl the naked swirl" Him-a-cane while the thunder makers hang out north- north-east earl the nekkid swirl pirouettes ponders his Bolshoi debut. Regarding Kay: 1858 revisited. Calling all moisture. Looks like future-Kay (special-Kay?) could become a monster in SoCal's break-fast bowl. As for Hinnamnor: In coming missile, loves kimchi and Russian dumplings, wouldn't mind some sushi, if you please, or Kuril caviar, isn't picky, shrugs off fur-coat bears. Apparently Hinnamnor is Lao ຮິນນາມນໍ. Still want to know what it means. (rock/water/horn?) Her-a-cane Fiona landfalling as the high towers circle around each other like Hulk in a wrestling match or a two rooks in game of chess, the pawns in the middle windblown and wet. Who will wipe away the tears of Ponce? The Mona Passage keeps its wisdom close (to itself) while Hispaniola holds its breath ready to blow Fiona north, hoping for a mere scrape of a breeze, perhaps some showers. No prompt: "SENIOR CENTER FORUM" "Kit's Higher Ratings Contest" "Poetic Traditions Poetry Contest " Birthday prompts I'll avoid "Barrel of Monkeys" "Blog Week Birthday Bastion 2024" 22 lines 22++ words, 22 lies. "Lies I believed" To all those who tried to love me: Let me count the ways... 1 ... 18 ___ 19. After your silence the shunning began. 22. "Shadows and Light Poetry Contest" Mystery  "The Bard's Hall Contest" |
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