POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

20 May 2012
196 Comments

“ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!” – PROMPT #56

We’ve done favorites of things we like. Today, take the opposite tack and write about something you could just as soon do without. Put one hand up and say “ENOUGH!” Use the other hand to write your poem and purge the offender from your system.

MARIE ELENA’S BANE:

VICE

Once
Twice
Rolled the dice
Twice
Thrice
Paid the price
Sound advice:
That’ll suffice.

WALT’S BAD MEDICINE:

ENOUGH!

I feel the drip, drip, drip
making my voice nasal,
and throat irritated. Into my lungs,
bronchi inflamed. Enough of this
my fight is against my “-itises”
Sinusitis and bronchitis
might as well go to hell.
I’m not well and it is their fault.
ENOUGH!

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196 thoughts on ““ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!” – PROMPT #56”

  1. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    YES ENOUGH RED TAPE
    That keeps a new family apart
    Baby born today
    Mom and baby over there
    (Philippians)
    While dad is stuck over here.
    (Washington State)

    Reply ↓
  2. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    GOSSIP

    I have heard
    all
    that I can stand!

    Reply ↓
  3. Richard King Perkins II on said:

    “Shame”

    Mind, resolute yet again,
    strikes out on its own

    leaving Heart’s oracle pincing at air.

    Clever trees bend with Mind’s force
    as it litters a gloomy frost path
    to the palm of all life.

    Outside a smoking cottage,
    angels and ghost children play hide-and-seek.
    Children of Spirit do not countenance
    what energy has possessed their father.

    Imprisoned creatures skitter
    through twisted woods as Mind stretches further,
    forging through limpid deep country
    without an alibi or Body.

    Detached, stolen away from both
    pretense and Spirit,
    Mind bites its own tail, claiming
    “I am the first source
    and I am the final delta.”

    Mind snaps like a roasting twig.
    The archer’s Ego quivers.
    Kinetic pain is everywhere,
    returned like an upstroke
    of atmospheric Energy,
    Mind sprawls at home,
    crucified on a potty-chair.

    It is the Beginning and the End
    of nothing.

    Reply ↓
  4. Hannah Gosselin on said:

    ~CONSIDERATION~

    I may just have to ask you to leave
    if your tongue you cannot leash,
    if you continue to wantonly weave,
    If you’ll not rest and grant reprieve.
    Winding your words carelessly chose
    you continue to offend and impose,
    (cause for heart to be raw and exposed),
    I’ve told you before I seek repose.
    I’ll have you know you’ll have to go.
    You have a choice to use your voice,
    yes, to this I will agree
    but my heart gets hurled,
    my gut simply curls,
    my faith tightly furls;
    I fight the urge to be surly.
    In this matter I complain,
    I wish I needn’t explain
    how achingly deep this pain,
    when taking the Lord’s name in vain.
    I’ll have you know you’ll have to go.
    You have a choice to use your voice,
    yes, to this I will agree
    but I implore of you,
    will you choose not to misuse His name?

    © H.G. @ P.B. 5/20/12

    Reply ↓
  5. Hannah Gosselin on said:

    Oh, yes Marie…sound advice ignored…ugh. Nice one to highlight. 🙂

    To this I will agree, Walt’s had enough of these, “-itises,” so get well is my reply to this and a healing seal of a smile. 🙂

    Happy Sunday poetical peeps!!!

    Reply ↓
  6. cloudfactor5 on said:

    Enough is Enough

    Every morning kitchen entered
    eyes alert and looking downward
    was that a roach or worse a mouse?
    creepy crawly pests around the house
    she grabs the spray
    she got one cornered
    one quick short burst
    then it’s slaughtered
    but what she really fears the most
    worse than even seeing a ghost
    fast and small, grey and whiskered
    scurrying pals of hated Willard
    she takes up arms against the vermin
    powerful poisons to leave em squirmin’
    she remains vigilant but mostly daunted
    into her dreams crept, leaving them haunted
    but still at bedtime after lamp she unplugs
    she starts to feel itchy, please god not bedbugs!

    ~ Randy Bell ~

    Reply ↓
  7. Linda Swenski on said:

    GOTTA LOVE MY JOB!

    Education, big frustration
    No support from administration.
    Dedication, innovation,
    I deserve a big ovation!
    No! Not an evaluation!

    Reply ↓
  8. Patricia A. Hawkenson on said:

    Past the Date

    You can toss it out
    without any guilt
    glugging it down the drain
    with your head turned
    to avoid any possible
    stench
    and there is no offense,
    for milk proudly tells you
    when it has had enough.

    I have seen your head
    turn from me
    and I can smell your
    disappointment
    gritty
    and clumped
    with bitterness
    while empty white jugs
    pile like snow on our back porch.

    Reply ↓
  9. mikegrove7 on said:

    Plague

    The beauty is a beast is disguise.
    Her warning signs are simply much too vague.
    She drops her hints and calmly tells her lies.
    She’s to be avoided like the plague.

    Like the plague to be avoided,
    You’ll be gutted, sliced and skinned.
    Stay away, go home and pray.
    Don’t throw your cautions to the wind.

    Too many will not heed her warnings.
    Most will see with blind mans eyes.
    The truth will always hurt you less
    than dying with unspoken lies.

    By Michael Grove

    Reply ↓
  10. whimsygizmo on said:

    Great prompt, guys. Short shadorma, for now.

    No Mas

    Enough of
    this silence, that way
    you have of
    spitting me
    out. I stand now, brave enough
    to wave adios.

    Reply ↓
  11. connielpeters on said:

    That’s Life

    I’m fed up.
    I’ve had enough.
    Who’d ever think
    life would be so tough?

    If I have money,
    I have no time.
    There seems to be
    no reason or rhyme.

    Floating down the stream,
    headed for the falls.
    Relentlessly,
    the stream never stalls.

    It’s a weird set up—
    peculiar, odd.
    What can I do,
    but turn to God ?

    Reply ↓
  12. Linda Swenski on said:

    “If I have money, I have no time.” The theme of my life. I love this quirky and charming look at the stream that never stalls, Connie!

    Reply ↓
  13. mikegrove7 on said:

    What About Love?

    What do you mean when
    you say enough is enough?
    Is it only a thick branch
    that can carry a burden
    while the small twig
    is so quick to snap?

    Why must there be
    a breaking point
    and a last straw
    to bring it on?

    Why must every molehill
    become a mountain?
    Why should the actions
    and decisions of others
    determine your happiness?

    What about acceptance?
    Will you understand tolerance
    and comprehend forgiveness?

    Why is silence
    allowed to replace
    open and honest communication?

    What about cooperation and compromise?
    What about togetherness?
    What about love?

    By Michael Grove

    Reply ↓
  14. pmwanken on said:

    ONE MORE TIME

    So many
    times, she has relived
    that moment;
    so many
    times she has said, “That’s enough!”
    When will the pain end?

    Reply ↓
  15. purplepeninportland on said:

    Bye-Bye

    She mired herself in the mud
    of the mind, soaking up
    depression like a sun bath.
    Meeting me, a chronic depressive,
    she savored steeping me
    in her waters of woe.
    Commiseration without
    solution, unhealthy for both
    of us. I began to notice
    her phone calls were reserved
    for ruminations about her life,
    easily ignoring mine. I flicked
    off the last morsel of mud,
    after a failed suicide attempt
    landed me in the hospital.
    She called to discuss
    the effect this had on her.
    I washed, lost her number,
    and sought help.

    Reply ↓
  16. jlynn sheridan on said:

    Prompt Swamped

    I’m swamped in these prompts;
    this race against time.

    At the gate before breakfast,
    I must write nine middle eastern
    Ghazals about heaven and hell.

    One furlong, one click,
    they’re all at the post—

    The jockeys—the bloggers—our poetic hosts,
    They’re off to the races ‘fore quarter to nine—

    Write eight Terza rima’s
    and five French Sestinas.

    Write about earth, the wind, and with fire,
    (He’ll box all the winners before he retires.)

    At noon, all ye poets, come write a Kyrielle
    (French linguine made with soft mozzarella.)

    We’re at the turn, just a quarter to go—

    Write one renku, two renga
    three rengi, four renkus,

    a nonet, a tanka,
    a rondeau (no rhyming,)

    a paradelle, a villanelle (I think about trees)
    five golden sonnets,

    four ballads ‘bout salads,
    three purple sijo’s,
    two odes to your mother,

    a glosa,
    a huitain,
    a haiku.
    (No, two.)

    I run to be first over some vague line,
    round round I go riding finite time,
    while one lonely novel waits under
    cold covers for one minute of lovin’
    from this crazed poet.

    Enough is enough;
    I’m stuffed—prompt swamped.

    Tomorrow I’ll write that rondeau—
    But maybe just one.

    Reply ↓
  17. Lynn Burton on said:

    Not Another Remake

    Movies without original ideas
    pulled out of a dusty corner
    of Hollywood’s dressing room –
    smooth the wrinkles, dress it up,
    wear it on the red carpet as if it’s
    brand new, as if it doesn’t reek of
    death warmed over.

    Reply ↓
  18. Jacqueline Casey on said:

    Cinquain: 2,4/6/8/2

    Enough!
    Love so denied
    arid Hope now buried
    too deep to recover the heart:
    Beware!

    Reply ↓
  19. Iris D on said:

    Negative is Nauseous

    You moan and complain from sun to sun,
    Nothings right, fault with everyone.
    Blessings abound if you would only look,
    Your gripes abound, could fill a book.

    Mercy, I cry, begone with the stuff,
    No more rhetoric, enough is enough.
    Stop it I say before I am totally deaf,
    Soon you will have no audience left.

    Reply ↓
  20. Iris D on said:

    Cannot edit but this should read, blessings around if you would only look. Typo causes two abounds in two lines. uh oh, I should have proofed.

    Reply ↓
  21. Marian J. Veverka on said:

    I posted a poem here around 11:00AM, but can not find it here? 11;00AM 5/21/12
    Marian Veverka

    Reply ↓
    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      Hello Marian. Very strange, as it isn’t showing up in the spam filter, nor inadvertently posted in another area of the site. If it shows up somehow, we’ll grab it and post it for you. In the meantime, did you save it somewhere off-site?

      Marie Elena

      Reply ↓
    • Linda Swenski on said:

      I had that happen during the seed prompt week!

      Reply ↓
  22. vivinfrance on said:

    Sorry folks, I’m in a silly mood, having just finished making the 2nd jester’s hat, the last piece of costume for our carneval.

    Enough of this tomfoolery,
    it’s all quite illusory
    cease your daft cajolery
    desist with your skulduggery
    abstain from all this trickery
    I’ll call out the constabulary.
    stop all this buffoonery
    laughter’s not compulsory
    here’s Chambers’ dictionary
    ,find sensible vocabulary –
    Enough, I say, enough.

    Reply ↓
  23. Marian J. Veverka on said:

    The poem that gets lost is never the poem that was saved “Enough” might have been in the title, it fit the prompt, but it was one of those poems that you sort of make up as you go along It was a short poem, probably easy to duplicate. Thanks for looking.
    Marianv

    Reply ↓
    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      I’m sorry we missed out, Marian! If you get the inclination, please do try to duplicate and post.

      Marie Elena

      Reply ↓
  24. seingraham on said:

    When More Than Enough is as Wearying as Anything Else

    Yes, that’s our beautiful boy, read the small-print headline
    The words a mother spoke as searchers recovered yet
    Another body, another person gone missing over a week
    In our lush and lovely river valley – not so lovely when
    It becomes the jungle hiding your missing child, the one
    Who has stopped taking his medication and wandered off

    And there is a weariness that steals over me as surely
    As a goose-down duvet being lowered and tucked in all around
    More and more I wish to pull it over my head and not
    Be aware of these small tragedies, these lost ones
    Who seem to multiply more every spring, or is that just
    The posters on the telephone poles, or just my imagination

    Maybe it’s my own state of mind I’m most tired of
    It could very well be this miasma of grey grief that’s settled
    On me as if part of my makeup, found in my DNA actually
    At least that is what I am beginning to suspect the longer
    It clings to me with the tenacity of a leech and there seems
    No way to dislodge it this time – no cutting it out, no medicating
    It gone, no pretending it’s not there either – I’ve sure had
    Enough of it – I can tell you that … more than enough
    The lush river valley begins more and more to have an allure …

    S.E.Ingraham©

    Reply ↓
  25. pmwanken on said:

    DISASTER AREA
    (a shadorma)

    pools of blue
    are overflowing
    drop by drop;
    will it end?
    will the floodgates ever close?
    enough is enough!

    2012-05-21
    P. Wanken

    Reply ↓

  26. Pingback: Disaster Area (a shadorma) « echoes from the silence

  27. Jerry Walraven on said:

    “Finished”

    Accidentally
    wrote the year
    as 2016
    and instantly fell
    into a future
    which felt nothing
    like today.
    These words,
    carried in my head,
    fell onto paper,
    edited,
    re-written,
    scrubbed.

    Finished.

    And all of this
    beautiful
    excuse
    making,
    ended.

    Reply ↓
    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      Oh! I want to let my imagination run away with this: “…as 2016 and instantly fell into a future…”!

      Reply ↓
  28. Andrew Kreider on said:

    A thousand dollars later

    As summer approaches, you will decide
    that the kitchen island is a tremendous eyesore,
    and needs to be refinished. Accordingly, you will
    drag it into the back yard, ready to strip the peeling
    paint. While you are out there, you will notice
    that the lawn is looking pretty long and you will
    decide to mow the grass, except that the mower
    no longer works. So you will go to Home Mart
    to buy a mower. And since you are an ecologically-minded
    soul you will choose an electric model this time,
    which means buying a 100-foot power cord.
    When you get home, you will realize that
    you do not have a grounded power outlet
    on the outside of the house and so you will
    call an electrician to come and put one in so
    you can mow the lawn. But he will be busy
    until next week. And while you are standing at the
    calendar in the kitchen talking to him, trying to
    set up a date for the work to be done it will occur
    to you that the kitchen walls are very dark
    and could really do with repainting. So that by the
    time you get off the phone with the electrician
    you will have decided to return to Home Mart to
    purchase bright new paint for the kitchen. Which is
    all very well, except that once at Home Mart, you will
    see a color swatch that looks perfect for the bathroom,
    and before you know it you will be walking out of there
    with enough paint for both rooms. Upon returning home
    you will go to the basement to find your brushes and
    rollers. The twenty minutes it takes you to locate these
    items will convince you it is time for a good old
    clean-out down there, and for the next day and a half
    you will find yourself putting your painting aspirations
    on hold while you move all the furniture around
    and carry three truckloads of junk to the curb, some of
    which will be immediately set upon by neighbors eager
    to help with your mammoth recycling project. At some point
    in this process, you will begin to realize that you are not
    sleeping well, and that every sentence you say begins with
    “Maybe if we just…” Your family will cease speaking to you.
    The dog will retreat to her kennel. Somehow, you will not notice.
    Twenty four hours later, you will be taking a shower when you
    suddenly remember that at some point you had been intending to paint
    the bathroom. You will launch into this project with a renewed sense
    of purpose. However, even before the painter’s tape is in place,
    you will be struck by the thought that you have never really liked
    the large built-in cupboards behind the bathtub, with their deep drawers,
    and so you will find a crowbar and set about that benighted cabinetry
    like the villain of a second-rate slasher movie, hacking and ripping until
    all that remains of the orderly drawer and door combo is a pile of splintered
    wood, a handful of nails, and an unsightly hole in the wall. You will
    feel a great sense of accomplishment, coupled with a nagging realization
    that you don’t quite know what to do with the space you have just
    opened, together with a sense of wied-eyed awe at the view of the basement
    now afforded by the gap you have made in the sub-floor. Your wife will take
    the kids and move to a hotel. The dog will remain in her kennel. Suddenly
    unencumbered by family obligations or the need for personal hygiene
    you will push yourself to new heights of self-expression, in fourteen
    hours repainting the entire kitchen and the bathroom, leaving the house
    smelling of fresh paint and self-satisfaction. Just as you are cleaning
    your brushes, the electrician will arrive to put in the new power outlet.
    You will pay him with thanks and go outside to mow the lawn, where you
    will find your path blocked by a large wooden obstacle. You will note that
    the kitchen island is still a tremendous eyesore and still needs to be refinished.

    Reply ↓

  29. Pingback: Enough « my words are alive

  30. Tania on said:

    Oh, how deliciously cathartic. I write a lot of pieces with this intention actually, it helps me release some of the frustration and find closure with people who wrong me.

    Reply ↓
  31. Michelle Hed on said:

    Lonely With You

    I want to hold your hand,
    (You’re aloof and keep your hands to yourself.)
    dance under the stars,
    (You’d rather watch television)
    run through dew besprinkled grass,
    (or sleep – )
    laugh until my side hurts –
    (and you avoid all forms of communication)
    with you.
    (with me.)

    (Poet’s note: completely fictional poem)

    Reply ↓
  32. Susan on said:

    Lovely.
    And mine, “By way of Apology: Faith” can be sen at the link below.

    Reply ↓
  33. thatmissr on said:

    There’s Something Wrong with This Picture . . .

    Clutter clings to every available surface,
    A parasite sinking its teeth into home,
    Draining joyful blood from daily flesh.
    We work our paling fingers to the bone
    To make our backbreaking loads heavier,
    Gritting our teeth in plastic grimaces,
    The weight forcing out the words,
    Which come with breath’s price:
    “Boy oh boy, this is the good life.”

    Reply ↓
  34. Mary Mansfield on said:

    Dear Bully

    Actions have consequences…
    I’m a shadow from your past,
    Faceless and forgotten,
    But I remember you.
    You turned that playground
    Into your own private torture chamber,
    Acid words thrown in the faces of the weaker,
    Indelible scars time can never erase.
    I was no threat to you.
    I had no control over how I looked,
    The neighborhood where I lived,
    The money my family didn’t have.

    Actions have consequences…
    Do you even realize the havoc you caused?
    Your voice echoed through my mind for years,
    Leaving me damaged and vulnerable,
    Easy prey for a much more vicious type of bully,
    Whose brand of psychological terror
    Made you seem like an amateur.

    Actions have consequences…
    I know the price I’ve paid for yours.
    It would be so easy to hate you,
    To wish you the kind of anguish
    I’ve lived with all these years,
    To continue the circle of cruelty,
    But I won’t.
    This ends now.

    Actions have consequences…
    I know I can sleep peacefully tonight.
    What about you?

    Reply ↓
  35. Marjory M thompson on said:

    …This ends now…

    Such an important statement and made with assurance.Wonderful statement.

    Reply ↓

  36. Pingback: Prompted Wednesdays: In the Hair and Now « Through the Eyes of Meena Rose

  37. Pamela Smyk Cleary on said:

    Hope to return later to read & comment. For now, here’s my “drive-by” posting — this poem was inspired by two separate prompts:

    1: Poetic Bloomings: Enough is Enough (Which is how I feel about this feud)
    and
    2: Poetic Asides: a Hairy poem (In this instance – a “Hairy Situation, Still Shedding”)

    Grudges to Graves

    Tale of old times: dissenting views, two
    too stubborn for discourse, dialogue
    sporting myopic opinions
    disagreement sparks dispute
    descends to squabble, bicker, brawl
    word gauntlets thrown, seconds chosen,
    family feud ensues, lingers, loiters
    Albatross animosity remains
    wounds won’t scar
    blood still seeps
    into eternity

    * * *

    Reply ↓
  38. slockard on said:

    Enough Hovering

    I am honored to be acknowledged
    I am proud to know you care
    but stop pestering me every minute
    let me breath something besides
    your stale, second-hand air.

    Reply ↓
  39. kellyliving4real on said:

    The Cost of Education?

    We didn’t pass the levy
    school finances are really bad.
    The fact you think it’s
    our fault, makes me really mad.

    The office is out of paper
    no more copies to be made.
    If we don’t run them off at home,
    will my son pass seventh grade?

    Families in our district
    have to tighten up its true.
    Did you think that this recession
    would somehow pass by you?

    You cut the needed programs
    yet, you got your yearly raise.
    My kids now have to pay to play
    My head is in a daze.

    From gifted to those with special needs
    the cuts hit every side.
    If you learned to stay within a budget
    there’d be reason for some pride.

    It might be somehow worth it
    if cuts started at the top.
    But that doesn’t seem to be the plan,
    when will this overspending stop?

    © KED 2012

    Reply ↓
    • Marie Elena on said:

      Kelly, I hear you loud and clear. It seems that the ones who do not vote for a school levy are demonized sometimes, when the reality may be that the system does not spend wisely. It is easy for me to vote for the Maumee levy each time, because I see that the school system is a good one, and there does not appear to be frivolous spending happening. If that was not the case, I would not vote for it. A neighboring district’s levy keeps failing … with good reason. Good poem.

      Reply ↓

  40. Pingback: Playtime: Friday Freeforall « Margo Roby: Wordgathering

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