One-A-Day

Should i writr her Or shLl i make due aomewherr elas? It's stranfe that qords flow sp much easier when I am at a keyboard instrad of just using my fingertips? Anx only teo. It smells like poo. This w was a tptal wasre of fime

Very uninspiring work here. Did I use up all my creative energies in my haiku post or do I just not care about socks? I'm thinking I'll try a different topic...or perhaps shift over to some prose next. I still must give kudos to The One-Minute Writer , whose prompts never fail to get my fingers flying across the keys. (Any deficiencies in writing style are completely on my shoulders.) i've never really cared for socks. sure they're necessary  (unless you like stinky shoes and slimy feet) but i'd rather grab a pair of shoes that don't require them. flip-flops in winter weather are fine so long as you maintain that summer pedicure. i suppose if i have to wear socks i'll pick a pair with arch supports  and try to convince myself i'll wear them at the gym. i'm drawn to colors and patterns at the bargain bin and they're sure easier to match on laundry day but i'd much rather skip them altogether. i could use my sock drawer for som...

Thank you, Haiku Heights , for the initial prompt: "crooked". Classical music streaming through my speakers, autumn streaming through my window...I found myself drawn off the intended path today. But no matter; there's wisdom here! your crooked smile is a sapling's bend in a breeze -- unassuming grace. live in the moment, do not fear tomorrow's ire, cherish yesterday. as Summer's heart slows leaves cling to dying branches. Live well to the end. learn to cherish life's beautiful fragility. beautiful, too: death. embrace the unknown, respect the unknowable, chase the mystery. obsess not over a temporal permanence. live life and accept. at least strive to grasp an enduring acceptance of what you can't change. inside, cultivate a vulnerability that feels every shifting wind even when you turn your cheek do not fear death -- mere inevitability doesn't dictate life. summer's end foretold, streng...

a cord connected physically what love linked first. joined forever, us. sometimes we bicker: two minds, two bodies, distinct. love mutes distinction. i don't phone enough. but i call to you with every thought. Thank you to Haiku Heights for today's prompt: "mother".

I always go over the one minute time frame, and even that's not enough to flesh out my ideas. But I suppose the point of the One-Minute Writer is to get you writing in the first place. (Any desire to continue doing so after the buzzer goes off is a happy addition.) The prompt was "stitch". a stitch in time saves nine they say nine stitches are more than one but putting quality before quantity is key my mom used to sew outfits when i was small i remember one in particular that i wore to the zoo in oklahoma (though i suppose the pictures do the remembering so i can't claim credit for memorizing my past footsteps) the outfit was shorts and a tank top made of a cotton blend the fabric depicted ice cream cones, strawberry flavor melting down the side of the cone i don't think i ever wore the outfit again (not even to an ice cream social) and while there's no picture to confirm my suspicion my embarrassment at the photos suggests that it was a sibling's insu...

ease your tired mind i will erase your troubles if you close your eyes. i stack flat pillows like pancakes. why buy new when you're more comfortable? counting sheep is hard when the pillow under you died six months ago. One thing is clear: I need to go pillow shopping. Thank you, Haiku Heights , for the prompt.

This blog was created with the intent to write about Dictionary.com's word of the day... daily . I'm among the worst as far as consistency is concerned, but I'm going to try taking it one day at a time . (I need a 12 Step Program for compulsive procrastinators.) Enough prologue; onward! contrail / KON-treyl \ noun a visible condensation of water droplets or ice crystals from the atmosphere, occurring in the wake of an aircraft, rocket, or missile under certain conditions I craned my little neck as far back as I could, desperate to admire the intersecting contrails above the airport but unwilling to dirty my new pink dress.

Obtained from nuspickle.blogspot. Before that ? I dunno. gold explodes across  the treeline and my shirt's stripes; last barbecue this season? Thanks to Haiku Heights for the prompt.

Thank you, juzta mum for the inspiration: Hot bowl of curry I lick the fingers; And taste you ...       Her soiled spoon rattles against ceramic emptiness. She mourns the loss of flavor the same way she will mourn him two days later when she allows herself to accept that he's gone. She twirls her finger through the remnants of the meal and licks her finger clean in hopes that stimulating her tastebuds will numb her sense of shame. Shame for allowing herself to succumb to his charms, shame for accepting less than her due, shame for tolerating behavior she wouldn't have accepted from her teenage son.  But all she can taste is his memory. He isn't right for her; never was.  Contrary to her own good sense, she'd put off clipping his vine -- instead inviting him to envelop her and blot out her sunlight. Carnal hungers sated, she slipped into a world where her needs outside the bedroom were irrelevant. She had broken the o...

I'm feeling creative but needing direction. Haiku Heights prompts writers to ponder LUNCH (a topic that is never far from my mind). i. hunger's open mouth devours all self control; succumb to more cake. ii. enhance your days with salt, pepper, garlic, thyme, sage. settle not for bland. iii. closed eyes, open mouth there is joy in the unseen. tastebuds, awaken!

step on a crack break your mother's back or worse: her heart. can't disappoint the woman who gave you You and the tools to find the undefined self. an omnipresent fog hovers over my path will i rise to the mystery or delve into the dirt? getting lost in the unknown is bittersweet, the quest unfolding into deep oblivion -- its marvels expanding the mind at the expense of momentum. there is no staircase to the answers but steps must be taken everyday, steps in midair, no ground underfoot -- life is not guaranteed, curious breath compels me to continue on.

I don't quite feel ready to jump into a writing prompt, so I'm returning to vocabulary-expanding tasks. To challenge myself today, a week of words tossed together. There was really no reason for the intergalactic dust-bunnies to coalesce. But there was someone shuffling his feet through carpeted corridors somewhere, an aumildar whose static energy convinced them to join forces and birl around one particular star. In the exordium, aggregate particles were content to reside in a heterogeneous world. But the couthie conditions did not last; Sea soon sought to differentiate itself from Land, eroding those who would not acquiesce to the distinction. Land struggled to retain its oneness, but Sea's intrusion upon the soil of Pangea would prove unsurmountable. Land began to divide itself into pseudonymous segments. Over time, even violescent mountains' majesty was torn from amber waves of grain. Today, division is so ingrained in our minds that we advert on difference, blind ...

I suppose I should feel fortunate. I've been with the same man for six years, I've worked for the same company for nine years, I've lived in the same state for ten years. But my college diploma says "English" and my job screams "Business" and I fear that this life I’ve built is Stagnation masquerading as Stability. I’m not planning on doing something drastic like running off to join the circus or the Scientologists or anything, but maybe I should just stop planning for a change. Stop standing still. Do something spontaneous. I am too young to feel this old. --- Thanks for the 100 Word Song prompt, Lance (of My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog ). This brief introspection was inspired by Elvis Costello's "Brilliant Mistake".

She  stood aloof nothing stood in the way of her purpose. buffeted by the cool winter breeze, nothing stood but She had watched others fall to the whirr or tumble into thirsty darkness but she refused to let the world assign her pain. Her pain was her own. She stands calmly, patiently awaiting tomorrow. will it bring an end or another beginning? what use in new predictions? tomorrow we chase the yesterdays we did not catch today.  (again.) She will herald the end to nothingness by giving in to it and tumbling into thirsty darkness as winter blows itself away ...Prompted by the 100 Word Song writing challenge at  My Blog Can Beat up Your Blog .  T his week's track: Tom Petty's "I Won't Back Down".

a heart may be precious but it's not a diamond and papercuts bleed a heart is a muscle but it's not invincible and races fatigue purple mountains pierce potential blues roil on the sea black drowns ambition can anybody shield me from these bruises on my heart the hemorrhage of my soul yes, i know the blood is flowing but it's clear to me it's going down the drain a mind holds such fire but it's not an island and bridges burn quickly a mind is the center but its social life often steers it toward apathy purple mountains pierce potential blues roil on the sea black drowns ambition can anybody save me from these bruises on my heart the hemorrhage of my soul yes, i know the blood is flowing but it's clear to me it's going down the drain a soul is eternal but joy is elusive (though laughter is free) a soul is untethered but today it's here and now today must be seized purple mountains pinpoint potential blue...

Jacobin / JAK-uh-bin\ , noun   1. an extreme radical, especially in politics. 2. (in the French Revolution) a member of a radical society or club of revolutionaries that promoted the Reign of Terror and other extreme measures, active chiefly from 1789 to 1794: so called from the Dominican convent in Paris, where they originally met. 3. a Dominican friar. 4. (lowercase) one of a fancy breed of domestic pigeons having neck feathers that hang over the head like a hood. The birdwatcher would have cooed in delight at his find, but to Terrance the jacobin was just another stupid pigeon. Sorry, kids (self?). This word just wasn't sparking anything for me. I suppose I could try to write something about a friar torn between his love for his God and his love for cacao. Though I think a Carmelite (brown friar) would have a better story, given that the same robes which covered up the evidence of his sin (scars from self-flage...

my heart is not irrefrangible; i break it more than anyone else. apologies to all of those i have blamed; i've blinded and bloodied and bludgeoned myself.

irrefrangible / ir-i-FRAN-juh-buhl \ adjective 1. not to be broken or violated; inviolable: an irrefrangible rule of etiquette 2. incapable of being refracted Twenty minutes into the exam, nature was screaming into Chad's face. A childhood full of terrestrial ferries between the pond in his backyard to the Great Lakes in his grandparents' had developed his ability to endure eight-hour stints between trickling streams, but the waterfall of caffeinated drinks from the previous night's cram session (not to mention the Writer's soppy sponge of metaphors) had stripped him of all restraint. The professor's irrefrangible policy against any interruption of testing sessions must be violated, else Noah's ark need be summoned to save the devout from the amber deluge.

who have i hented this life from? surely it was not meant for me. i was supposed to be traveling the world and writing novels and money was supposed to be irrelevent at the same time it was to be in ready supply. instead i struggle to connect the ends instead i work on a sponge i must wring joy from (when i dreamed of a place where joy overflowed its cup) what choice do i have but to follow the path though i realize i can create a fork with some work i dare not step off the path into the brush for i have too many responsibilities and too many ropes tying me to the ground i will wring the joy out of work and soak in the joy of play until that day when play and work are one.

hent / HENT \ verb to seize It had stood unclaimed for almost a month, she was certain. With the expiration date a mere two days away, Kate took her growling stomach to the break room and hented the strawberry Yoplait for herself.