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


There are things we can be relatively certain of in this life. Tomorrow, the sun will rise in the east and set in the west. Yet, that of which we may be certain is limited. On the other hand, the questions in life seem inexhaustible.

Write about something you can’t grasp, or that you wish you knew more about.




 Words and meanings smear like watercolor on slanted mirror. 
Her ‘reasoner,’ broken.
Her fear, unspoken.
Her sense of self, lost on a shelf of saved-for-sometime dreams.
Seems little ‘clicks.’  There must be a fix – a pill that would fill her seeping soul, and bring her back,

© Marie Elena Good – 2012



They claim two certainties in this life;
death and taxes. But the fact is,
they breed confusion and you can bet,
the surety ends when they start to tax death.

© Walt Wojtanik – 2012

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215 thoughts on “UNCERTAINTY – PROMPT #63

  1. This one is supposed to be indented each line one space more, centered around the Red Sox line, and then reversing back to the left for the second half. I have a feeling when I hit send it’s going to end up flat against the left margin…

    Still no rain

    Still no rain
    I keep checking the weather
    For news of a cloud, any cloud
    I answer the door hoping for lightning
    I am obsessed, half crazy with this craving
    After dark, I go to the grocery.
    People walk its wide aisles slowly
    I see a bug struggling to carry a piece of food,
    I wonder if that is how I look tonight.
    I cannot think straight. I buy ice.
    Back home again I go to bed.
    We do not touch, my lover and I.
    The Red Sox are on the radio. I listen, breathless.
    I try not to touch the sheets
    I am hardly at home in this bed.
    I get up, thinking tangents about ice.
    I catch sight of my matted hair in a mirror
    I should eat, but it’s too much effort.
    Instead, I wander the house aimlessly
    I cut slow, wide swaths across the dusty hardwood.
    I crave anything but this obsessive crazy circling.
    Outside our door, there are fireworks.
    There are no clouds in the night sky
    I check the weather again.
    Still no rain.

  2. In The Dark

    I have no idea
    where you are
    I have no idea
    if you will read this
    I have no idea if
    you will care if you do
    I have no idea what really happened
    I have no idea
    why you had to go
    I have no idea
    what to do now
    I have no idea
    how to say the words you need to hear
    I have no idea
    if you are listening
    I have no idea
    why I searched for so long
    I have no idea where to look now
    I have no idea
    why I still love you


  3. Poetic Bloomings on said:

    I wonder if you two (Andrew and Iain) have any idea how excited I am to see you lined up as the first two poets to respond to this prompt. POWERFUL pieces, gentlemen!!

    Marie Elena

  4. Henrietta Choplin on said:


    “The only thing cer-
    tain, is the uncertainty” *
    Can I flow gently?

    *author unknown

  5. I have received your wonderful prompts via email for quite some time. I kept hoping to get around to contributing. On the heals of a sleepless night I wrote a piece about time. The idea of time versus timelessness always leaves a bit uncertain.

    • tmhHoover on said:

      Here is a link directly to my writing-http://smallstonegatherer.blogspot.com/2012/07/timeless.html

      • Poetic Bloomings on said:

        So glad to see you dip your toe in the waters, Teri! I left a comment at your site. LOVELY writing, and we sure hope to hear more of your voice here!

        Marie Elena

  6. Jackson on said:

    A frightened child
    Wondering what will become of her now
    He was everything
    Strength, protection, love, security, everything
    Gone, not coming back
    All that was left was a broken family
    Searching the eyes of a woman
    Who was broken herself
    Looking for reassurance and
    Only seeing emptiness
    Pain, loss, fear
    Years go by…
    She found her own strength
    Always that fear in the back of her mind
    Never fully able to trust…
    Nothing lasts forever

    • Janet on said:

      Wow! I know a few too many like this…you pen it vividly and with aching thought! These lines jolted my heart ‘Floundering,
      Searching the eyes of a woman
      Who was broken herself’ and this,
      ‘Always that fear in the back of her mind
      Never fully able to trust…’ painful uncertainties indeed!

    • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

      Ya, so ral for so many. Well written.

    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      Jackson!!!!!!!!! MY Jackson! So good to see you here!

      All, “Jackson” is one of my very dearest and best friends. She is very talented in the arts, and teaches at Bowling Green State, near us.

      I’m so glad to see you expressing yourself in this way, Jackie. I know yesterday was super hard on you. I can only imagine. 😦

      Beautiful poem, beautiful voice, beautiful friend.

      You know I love you deeply.


    • This could so easily be about me. Wow. I’m sitting here crying in the ache of it all.

  7. Janet on said:

    Walt and Marie, this is going inspire great reading….your poems are proof of that as are those already written!

  8. That Wasn’t My Intention

    I talk.
    Okay. I talk and talk and talk.
    But my real friends and family
    know what I mean to say.
    Don’t they?

    What it they don’t?
    What if they misunderstand me?

    What if they twist what I say,
    my genuine,
    insightful words
    into something dark,
    more sinisterly malicious?

    What if they think
    I have evil intentions?

    So just to be sure,
    I talk.

    Okay. I talk and talk and talk.

  9. Janet on said:

    A Mother’s Uncertainties…

    Over the years
    I am certain you’ve heard me
    Easing my fears
    In last minute reminders…

    “Use your manners now
    Don’t talk with your mouth full
    Be gentle, be kind and be careful
    Respect your teachers
    And your classmates too
    When someone offers you a ride
    Please say thank-you
    Let others go first
    Don’t push and shove
    Say excuse me when you want someone to move
    Walk, don’t run in church or school halls
    Don’t spend money carelessly
    If you go to the mall
    Don’t drive too fast
    Give the teacher that note
    The permission slips
    And the thank-you I wrote
    Don’t waste your food
    Do what is good
    Someone is watching when you think you’re alone
    So do as you know you should
    Mind your ‘pleases’
    And your ‘thank-yous’
    It’s okay to say no
    When it’s the wrong you refuse
    Play the game fairly
    Obey the Golden Rule
    Drugs are poison
    And they are not cool
    Oh, and don’t drive too fast
    Did I already say that?
    Be careful…oh,
    I’ve said that too
    Many, many times, it’s true
    Yes, I’m certain you’ve heard me
    Over and over
    But I am still quite uncertain
    As to what you remember…

  10. Uncertainty Ode

    How can I write a poem about uncertainty
    when uncertainty is the pen?
    Or maybe the keyboard, as it were, or maybe is.
    Despite all our best efforts, here we are with another circle.
    I can never remember my dreams
    and so I can’t figure out what you will say
    when I tell you about how you
    unknowingly turned the cobblestone path through the park
    into a metaphor for yourself.
    I almost showed you the picture once.
    There it is again, the Le Cirque des Rêves,
    and I can’t tell which parts are real.
    The jacket turns into a raven
    and the fortune teller says “I don’t know,”
    and so clearly we have come to the wrong place for definiteness.
    I have been slacking at being here.
    For some reason, the more you think the blurrier it gets.
    This is giving me a headache. You?
    The plan is to jump off the cliff, to fall down the stairs without stopping
    but I have to admit I take breaks to stare at the screen,
    to wonder how this will all be perceived.
    Hello, city breeze,
    how would you like to become a metaphor too?
    The summer is already half over
    and although you’re appreciated more this time of year,
    we still have no fucking clue how this will all play out.
    how a broken Red Sox wristband can send you back
    eight years.
    how we can get all the way through to the other side
    and still we’re sure of nothing.

  11. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:


    I plan a course,
    and run with the wind,
    but my efforts to set my sails
    do not always work.
    The wind moves not at my bidding,
    it flows per the hand of God…
    who may stay the wind.

    Becalmed –
    to stop my frantic headlong thrust.

    to see what is about me.

    beyond myself, my plans,
    beyond me.

    to be quiet…
    to pray and listen.

    the source of certainty
    in a world of uncertainties.

    not my will,
    but the will of God.

  12. Precious Time

    Beyond the golden meadow
    where an old oak tree is growing,
    casting shadows in the breeze,
    there’s a reddish river flowing.

    Immerse yourself in waters.
    Sense a pleasant warming light.
    Slow your heartbeat to a rhythm.
    Separate, then reunite.

    Hear the whisper of the wind
    sing sweet melodies of love.
    Feel the trembling down below.
    Witness visions up above.

    Touch the hearts of those endeared.
    Share the passion of their cries.
    Hear the message of the word.
    See the world thru open eyes.

    Will it be a downhill slide
    or a lengthy upward climb
    as the ticking of the clocks
    steal away your precious time?

    By Michael Grove

  13. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    I Love that Michael, I could (and am sure I will) read that over and over.
    Very encouraging. Thank You. 🙂

  14. Connie L. Peters on said:


    Grass wilts, leaves fade, creation is unsound
    Cars rust, men die, buildings fall to the ground
    Ah, but look to His blessings from above
    Mountains of mercy and oceans of love

    We can never know what the day will bring
    Or even if dawn will ever take wing
    Ah, but with the Lord, we can be sure of
    Mountains of mercy and oceans of love

    Our days are numbered, many or a few
    It’s out of our control, what others do
    He sent His Son and Spirit like a dove
    Mountains of mercy and oceans of love

    • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

      “….He gives and takes away,
      Still my heart will say…Blessed is the name of the Lord.”
      Part of a song that keeps running throught my mind.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      “…Ah, but look to His blessings…” !!!


    If I were you
    I would write down how I am feeling today:
    The anger and fear of knowing
    that the end is so certain and near.

    If I were you
    I might keep writing every day
    So that others who must travel the same path
    will know that they do not walk alone.

    If I were you
    I would hold a magnifying glass to my faith
    Finding and taking every comfort
    that it was designed to give.

    If I were you
    I would find joy in each task I undertake,
    Because if I am taking the time to do it, it must be worthwhile.

    If I were you
    I would spend hours every day doing the things I have always wanted to do.
    I would lunch with friends, sit in the park,
    read fabulous books, and take long fragrant baths.

    If I were you
    I would find something small to do that I know would make a difference,
    So I would be sure that the world is a better place
    because I was here than it would have been without me.

    If I were you
    I would burn the concept of a Bucket List.
    Joy is found, not in the huge events,
    but in the very small ones.

    If I were you
    I would go to sleep each night recalling my accomplishments,
    Since I have never had time
    to consider them as they occurred.

    If I were you
    I would remind my loved ones that I will always be with them.
    My actions, words, and thoughts will come back to them
    unbidden whenever they are needed.

    If I were you
    I would not spend one second thinking about what I will miss or regret,
    But instead spend every minute embracing the wonderful things
    I experienced and enjoyed.

    But I am you.
    My journey is growing shorter every day with certainty,
    Though I have not yet been notified
    of my final flight or destination.

    Because of you
    I am going to change the journey I take
    And do these things
    that I should have done my whole life.

  16. Cooking with Uncertainty

    2 lbs Risk
    1 lb Fortune-telling
    1 lb Estimated Prophet
    1 lb Inspiration
    .5 lb Probability
    .5 lb Skepticism
    1 pinch of Good Luck

    Bake risk, generously topped with fresh ground rosemary 40-45 min
    then transfer to larger pot, add 2 pears (cleaned and quartered)
    some fresh or dried figs (6-8 cut in half if dried)
    6 garlic cloves plus one onion quartered ( optional )
    2 cups Tawny Port wine or enough to almost cover risk
    add remaining ingredients, bring to slow boil
    and then cook on low, a little over an hour total time
    (in lieu of uncertainty, substitute turkey thighs for risk)

    ~ Randy Bell ~

  17. It’s time I tried posting here, still uncertain whether or not this is “publishing.” In the past I’ve just guided you to the specific poem on my poetry blog. Here’s the cut and paste, which I suspect will lose its concrete design, but which I think will still work:

    Diving In

    The plank looms before me
    and the pirate, with hook,
    wooden leg and eye patch
    nudges me forward
    I dare not look back.
    It’s a sweet strong
    college-age teen who
    wills me to glide forward.
    Best to look straight out
    with no bobble or bounce
    Can I leantotouch my ankles,
    touch my hands together
    And lean over the edge
    –no need to hop–
    just fall?

    in water,
    in love
    into the job,
    into the fortune,
    into the future.

    As a senior in High School
    I passed on my ability
    to leap into everything
    with my eyes wide open
    which is something
    once you give it away once you give it away
    you keep on having more.

    (My totem is the pelican, who dives for food, so there will be more to this poem someday. Today’s theme is uncertainty (Posted for “Theme Thursday.” on 6/5/12)–but I’m feeling good; today is good.

    Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast

    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      Susan, I’m sorry that I don’t know quite how to answer the “published” question. It truly depends on the publisher. Some consider even posting to your own blog as “published” work. I’m hoping someday there will be an across-the-board standard.

      I do know that Walt and I are immensely pleased to see your work here. I hope you feel welcome and at home.


      • I love the snippets that you and Walt tempted us with above! I am also feeling love for the two of you who provided this day.

        This will link with my thinking blog–not my poetry one–

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      Love your totem, and where you went with it…!

  18. Speaking Chinese

    I ask a linguist I know
    if there is such a thing
    as multi-lingual dyslexia,
    when a person launches
    into a sentence involving
    every language but
    the native one. He says,
    Sure. Why not.

    When people ask me
    which languages I
    speak other than English,
    I don’t tell them I speak
    alphabet soup, a couple
    of words of everything
    I ever heard, sliced thin
    and stirred over a low
    heat of frustration.

    I tell them that when
    I speak Chinese, I know
    exactly what I mean
    to say; I’m just never
    certain what I said.

  19. Living in an Uncertain World

    Uncertainty has crept into our lives
    Uninvited but it’s made itself at home.
    A regular paycheck is an honored guest
    That might decide to cut back on its visits
    Is there anything that continues to be certain?

    Even the weather is no longer reliable
    Hurricane, flood, drought, disaster all
    Line up on the evening news, We still
    Are overwhelmed with all our self-made
    problems – what to do? What can we do

    A factory closes its doors. Forever. Bittersweet
    Vines climb over its doors and windows. How
    Beautiful the flowers-. A tribute to the workers
    Who work no more. They move to other towns
    Where uncertainty has settled in before them.

    A bad joke. A nightmare. The food stamps
    Help but will they continue forever? Nothing
    Is forever has been rammed down our throats.
    A bitter herb that flavors every promise.
    One true certainty remains. Death, our shadow
    Self. Whose only uncertainty is when.

  20. Pingback: UNCERTAINTY – PROMPT #63 « cloudfactor5

  21. janeshlensky on said:

    Before and After

    A local minister come to save his soul
    before cancer can claim his breath
    tells him he will certainly go to hell
    if he doesn’t go to heaven, that he has
    a choice, a decision to make, but quickly.

    How do you know that? he asks.
    How can you be so sure, faith and
    knowledge at odds, but the minister quotes
    scriptures without answering his question
    and prays for his sad uncertain soul.

    I believe but I don’t know, he tells the minister,
    suddenly angry that Lazarus had not disclosed
    what lies beyond, knowing full well it mattered
    to all flesh. Why didn’t anyone ask him and lay
    the matter to rest? Describe the hereafter, brother!

    The minister leaves shaking his head.
    The sick man breathes deeply and holds fast
    to hope that there is a knowing, an intelligence
    beyond the brain, a faith greater than love,
    a mercy majestic and fathomless, a surety
    more sacred than self, and no throw-aways.

  22. “What is enough?”

    An owl laments
    the lack of mice under the naked
    shagbark hickory

    in the yard; I take
    its morose tune and simmer it
    rousing a blood boil

    from my steaming
    kettle of words for the bull-thistle
    knotted to the keening

    primrose on my sofa.
    She is beautiful, gazelle-heart beautiful,
    honey-voiced pure,

    I stir her chamomile,
    spoon the sugar, offer buttermilk scones
    she picks, sips, grips

    a pink tissue in her
    palm asking why she isn’t enough
    for him, why his eyes

    desire exquisite orchids
    painted for an illusory paradise,
    untouchable, enchanting,

    when did she become
    a curled rag-thistle in his eyes?
    She twirls her ring made

    from fool’s gold, the
    owl seizes a limp mouse, screeches, then
    drops it in the slough.

  23. Shannon Lockard on said:

    I Saw Him…Or So I Thought

    I glimpsed a man with a tattered gray beard
    one tan arm, peppered with hair
    hanging from his car window,
    a cigarette perched in his fingers
    as he maneuvered with one hand on the wheel.
    For a moment all the air left my lungs
    my hand hovered above the car horn
    I almost turned to follow him,
    but the cruel certainty crept in
    my father wasn’t out driving around anymore.
    I gulped for air and dabbed the tears from my eyes
    faced with the uncertainty of whether or not
    I would be able to make it through the rest of my day
    without breaking down for another good cry.

    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      Shannon, this is gripping. What a capture. I’ve done the same more than once with my Godfather, who is also no longer with us.



    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      These days will come … and go…. I send you my empathy…

    • I too hover to call out whenever I see my lost ones in front of me in a characteristic pose. You paint a vivid picture of the moment we teeter on the edge of dysfunction–but I tell you that as time moves on the visits can feel more gentle and welcome. Hug 2.

  24. Marie Elena, your poem is wonderful. My father-in-law has dementia, so this one hits home for me.

    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      Thank you, Linda. I’m so sorry about your father-in-law. It’s such an awful thing, isn’t it?

      Warm smiles and blessings to you.


      • As does mine, although he celebrated his 79th today. He recognized some faces and joined conversations from the past remembered./ It was a good day fot John!

        • Poetic Bloomings on said:

          So good to hear that, Walt. 79 seems so young to be dealing with that. I’m glad he can still enjoy good days.


  25. Pingback: The Lottery « Metaphors and Smiles

  26. Pingback: Cloudy With a Chance of Uncertainty | Two Voices, One Song

  27. Within and Beyond My Grasp

    I love the beauty, the balance,
    the certainty of grammar,
    even the quirkiness of the exceptions.
    Commas don’t scare me.

    But after college-level physics,
    I still don’t understand why
    a butterfly floating aloft inside a car
    doing seventy, don’t end up
    smashed against the back windshield.

    Shakespeare doesn’t scare me,
    and I prefer to learn by heart
    verses from the King James Version.
    I understand the thee’s and thou’s,
    puns, allusions, proverbs.

    But I can’t understand how golfers
    read a green, putting uphill,
    making the dimpled ball curve
    when the line looks straight to me.

    I can recognize anapestic meter,
    distinguish synecdoche from metonymy,
    Yorks from Lancasters, prose from poetry
    and I can practically smell plagiarism.

    But I’m comfortable with all that lies
    beyond my grasp—math and physics,
    depth and distance, omnipotence
    and grace, unfathomable love.

  28. http://2voices1song.com/2012/07/08/cloudy-with-a-chance-of-uncertainty/

    Two offerings today:

    A Promise
    By: Meena Rose

    I cradled her against my heart;
    Tears flowed forth showering
    Her with love.

    I inhaled her precious scent;
    A silent oath of devotion
    Sprang forth.

    Blood of my blood,
    Flesh of my flesh,
    I give you my all.

    I looked into her bottomless eyes;
    A hardened resolve was born to
    See her through the Night.


    Uncertain Times
    By: Meena Rose

    An ever changing world;
    A fast moving landscape;
    A steady tug to conform.

    A charged climate;
    A precipice of change;
    A delicate balance shifts.

    Racism, sexism and ageism
    Abound while more isms surface;
    My favorite: Superegotism.

    The following antidote
    Must be enough – adaptability
    Anchored by common sense.

    Not sure about you,
    I have to make a societal
    Antidote for my kids.

  29. Poetic Bloomings on said:

    Week after week after week, you all amaze me with your responses to the prompts. Incredible …


  30. I Don’t Know What Drives Me (double shadorma)

    I don’t drive a car.
    Took lessons,
    hated each
    one; cannot pursue challenge,
    yet loathe reliance

    on other people.
    Crave freedom,
    total self-
    sufficiency, while I dread
    causing someone’s death.

  31. Uncertainty Overcome

    Kiki the cat paused, suspicious of all
    Having just watched his keeper die last night.
    Traumatized, he agreed to stay with me.
    Uncertain, he eyed me curiously.
    Purred I soothing words as he paced my rooms,
    Reassured my hands as they stroked his back.
    Viewed he, me, as somewhat distasteful
    so he bit my hand with a certainty.
    Spent specific hours in Emergency
    Sustained Tetanus shot most certainly!


    The bridal car has arrived for you , decorated and grand.
    You know you’re heading for happiness …..but……on the other hand……
    You’re standing on the diving-board; you know you’ve got the skill
    But……..on the other hand……..a wrong move could even kill!
    Tomorrow you see the doctor; what is the prognosis.
    You’re almost certain you’re O.K. but………you dread the diagnosis!
    Uncertainty’s a devil; it wakes you in the night.
    Optimism is on the left; pessimism on the right.
    ‘Everything will turn out well!’ You prepare yourself for sleep!
    No! No! You’re wide awake again! Your flesh has begun to creep.
    ‘Everything will NOT go well!’ You’re marked for a dreadful fate!
    Death is preferable! No it’s not! Don’t be an idiot! Wait!
    And so it goes; first up, then down. It’s better far to KNOW.
    For good or bad, the future, a definite Yes or No,
    Is far, far easier to deal with than uncertainty’s teasing dread.
    ‘Better the devil you know’ they say. Very wisely said!
    * I’ve suffered from uncertainty for the last few months. Read all about it on my Skin Graft Blog

  33. nigh time

    the clock in the piazza is fixed
    at the same hour it was when
    last I saw it
    as I pulled away
    from the train station
    bound for Roma …
    almost one year ago

    puzzled, I spend long moments
    many – watching time,
    waiting futilely for a change,
    a sign
    and in my mind I hear
    a voice –
    Ferlinghetti’s insolent
    chattering gets louder

    his has been in the background
    of all the voices for months
    maybe longer
    he orders up insurgency
    without which he
    warns, the end of things
    is nigh –

    he points to the clock
    stopped long ago;
    one more example
    of certainty
    in an uncertain world
    you wanted to bear witness?
    he is mocking me, I know…
    bear this


  34. Pingback: Love « my words are alive

  35. Love

    Words spoken often
    Felt deeply
    Perhaps too much of a good thing
    Is indeed too much
    The mind tangles and twists
    Upon thoughts and fears
    The heart leaps and stills alternately
    Wondering on the truth
    There is no escape
    And would it be desired if there were?

  36. Pingback: Uncertainty « Magical Mystical Teacher

  37. Pingback: Etymology | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  38. Etymology

    When the words slip free
    rain through fingers
    sunlight pouring loose,
    and tossed to wind’s whim,
    refuse to assemble
    along ivory battle lines,
    I long to study their foreign roots
    utter origins of Latin, Arabic
    command them with proper accent
    and woo their road-weary hearts
    into submission.

    These uncertain syllables
    bob and sway
    squeak out their hesitant
    “quoi?” and “que?”
    and wander about in the streets
    left to their own recognizance;
    collect ammo of my ignorance,
    plan their final ineloquent mutiny.

  39. Marie, your poem is just beautiful, and so sad. Prayers, my friend, for your beautiful daughter.

  40. claudsy on said:

    You guys definitely have a way with words. Everyone has been busy, and that is a certainty. Glad to see you up and around, Walt. And Marie, you amaze me, my friend.

    I didn’t have the strength to post this here last night. Hope you enjoy.

    Decisional Effort

    Shall I take this path?
    Perhaps that one’s better.
    Is anyone waiting for me
    When I reach the other end?

    How can I remain myself
    In the face of so many other
    Definitions of who I am,
    When clues to identity elude me?

    Will any miss me at day’s end?
    Have any noticed my silence
    When normal chatter is absent
    From channels that lately flourished?

    Oh, to say yay or nay
    And be done with indecision
    Forever at this late stage of
    Questioning life and its meaning.

    • Claudsy, this is poignant and beautiful…and I deeply pray, not autobiographical. You are a cherished poetic voice in many channels of my life, and of course you would be profoundly missed. The meaning of life is love, and laughter and good words exchanged. I pray those things for you today.

      • claudsy on said:

        Thank you so much, my friend. I’m glad you liked it. It was written in remembrance of all those times in my life, and I’m sure in the lives of others, when such doubts and speculations arise to keep us awake at bedtime or watching faces while at funerals.

        I have to say that I’ve found so many among the poetic voices out here whose presence I’ve come to expect each day in my wanderings. I’m usually aware when they are absent for more than a day or so, and whether I query aloud or not, I’m always relieved when they return to my daily circles.

        I’m not always visible or verbal, but I tend to keep watch, as a sentry checking off those who’re on my list of daily notables.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      “…How can I remain myself In the face of so many other Definitions of who I am…” Wow, you have captured it, Clauds…. ! I have Finally learned, to just BE… Folks will either respect that, or move along their path…

    • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

      Cloudsy – I appreciate what you wrote – well done. Reminds me too of when I became a part of – a family – how much I was expected to do all the changing – good or bad – Luckly, I found help and was able to re-find the me I had always been. ‘That me’ was not all that bad! 🙂 Ok, always some room for improvement 🙂 🙂 🙂

      • claudsy on said:

        We all adjust to others’ expectations. That’s part of being human, I know. It’s when we allow others to dictate who we are that a problem arises. Or, at least that’s what I’ve come to know. I’m still trying to undo all of the “corrections” made to me.

  41. A Sticky Triolet

    Why does glue never ever stick
    on the inside of the bottle?
    No matter if the glue is thick
    why does glue never ever stick
    or harden/set when labeled ‘Quick
    Dry Glue’? It won’t even mottle
    on the inside of the bottle.
    Why does glue never ever stick?


  42. Hi all. It’s been way too long!
    Here’s mine for the week.

    Your mean-ing

    I just don’t know what
    you mean when
    you say you’re a follower

    of a religion whose deity
    clearly stated that
    the greatest spiritual law is

    to love one another as
    you love god;
    to judge not; to forgive.

    And yet, you judge. Harshly.

    You call it god as you
    judge true followers
    who know to love you

    despite the self-righteous wrath
    you spew at
    people whose lives, decisions, and

    agony you could never imagine.
    They will never
    forget your judgment. Your mean-ing.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      “.. mean -ing” brings such sadness…

    • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

      Even the ‘best’ of mankind is still human – sadly we get caught up in self and ‘my way” and forget His way. Yes, He is Love. We need to look to the sourse of that love and not get sidetracked by people and their hang-ups. He is Love….help me demonstrate that love today.

  43. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    Cascade – UNCERTAIN

    Uncertain – will I hear from you?
    I stand by the box and wait,
    Wanting assurance that you are there.
    Wondering, do you care enough to write?

    Letters seem so few
    Is their absence a clue?
    Uncertain – will I hear from you?

    Still I stand and wait,
    Daily as I contemplate,
    I stand by the box and wait,

    The unknowing is hard to bear,
    Wondering if you care,
    Wanting assurance you are there.

    Hoping each day that a letter might…
    Might answer my dilemma, my plight.
    Wondering, do you care enough to write?

    What will I learn?
    Are feelings certain?
    Do you Know?

  44. Sorry I’m late – a very busy weekend. But like a bad penny, I always turn up – eventually!


    I used to know what I believed.
    Scepticism crept in,
    stole the comfort blanket
    which had kept me safe.

    Doubt, to which I cling,
    at least is not denial,
    not antonym of certainty,
    merely mistrust of

  45. Pingback: Credo | Vivinfrance's Blog

  46. Henrietta Choplin on said:


    Uncertain if you
    Will ever know, that one month
    ago, my words fell…

  47. Pingback: Short End Of The Stick « echoes from the silence

    (a shadorma)

    The kids lose.
    Buffer them in the
    Can’t be done…
    everybody hurts sometimes.
    Must unity fail?

    P. Wanken

  49. Pingback: Nothing Stops the Young « Misky

  50. This is quite long. I thank anyone willing to spend the time to read it. I think this is prose … or else it’s just a really long thingie…


    “Yes, that’s right but, please, my friends call me Mac,”
    he said, “and I reckon you’re right; the best place to start,
    is to start from the start.” He settled into the hard
    plastic chair that was moulded for everyone’s back
    but his own, and scooted the shrieking metal legs
    along the floor to give his legs a bit more room.

    “For generations this house was a home;
    this farm was a family. Six children were born
    on to this land, and all six survived. Not everyone
    had the Lord’s luck like we did. The children, well,
    they had lots of friends: lambs and a calf or two,
    cats and dogs, pet spiders that lived in the barn.

    We cared for each other, we tended each other.
    Fields to sow, acres to plough, first-cut hay
    for the animals, second-cut dried and baled,
    alfalfa and grass for the cows who gave us
    their sweet, richness a demand, bees that cooled
    themselves with busy wings as summer heat
    fell across us like a woollen blanket. We drank

    sweet tea from jam jars on the shaded porch
    when the sun warned us off the fields. There
    were days when an old hat didn’t give the shade
    you’d needed on a crispy hot afternoon. It could
    get so hot on the fields that you could hear
    the air snap. I actually dream about the scent
    of baked dust now and then. Those were good days.
    They were happy days when we were all young.”

    Nothing stops the young.

    Mac took a sip of water, and shifted his discomfort
    from this preposterous excuse for a chair.

    “And then the children grew up. Year by year each
    one made their excuses and left home,” he said.
    “None of them wanted a future with callused hands,
    knotted muscles, and a lifetime of uncertain weather.
    They’d toil their brain elsewhere, they said. Each one
    tidied their rooms up nice and then moved to the city.
    They’d come back for Christmas, but in truth,
    when children leave home they take a part of your
    heart and soul with them. I’d lost my children.”

    Nothing stops the young.

    “The woman and I – she actually hates that I call
    her ‘the woman’ – but there’s no doubt that she
    was one hell of woman. The best woman for me,
    that’s for sure, and I thank the good Lord for her.
    Anyway, the woman and I tended and cared
    for the farm for a good few more years. We had
    some good years together, and I’m grateful.

    The woman used to say that too much
    of a good thing would kill your spirit. The woman
    had a heart attack on one of those hot, baked dusty
    days. Right there in the alfalfa field. It killed her.
    Maybe I was just too much a good thing for her.
    That’s a joke, by the way. I miss her. I really miss her.
    She was too young to leave me but…” he shrugged.

    Nothing stops the young.

    Mac shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

    “So, you see things are very uncertain for me.
    Don’t know what the future holds.
    I lost the children to the city.
    I lost my wife to a heart attack.
    And last month I lost my hand to baling wire.”

    Mac blinked away a puddle of tears.

    “So here are the keys to the barn, the house,
    the tools storage and front gate.”

    The bank manager nodded, “Thank you, Mac.
    So what are your plans now?”

    “I’m not entirely certain,” Mac said. He extended
    his left hand to bid the bank manager goodbye.

  51. Pingback: Anxiety | Hoofprints In My Garden

  52. Greetings fellow poets.

    This poem is dedicated to my Step mother who just had a massive heart attack, to my Uncle (prostate cancer), and my sweet granny Florida (this is her actual name).


    Benjamin Thomas

  53. Henrietta Choplin on said:


    here with me
    tho you don’t know

  54. Henrietta Choplin on said:


    we spend
    time talking
    on the phone at

    (Both poems are Japanese Lantern form)

  55. Henrietta Choplin on said:


    It’s that
    in an instant,
    that WE will be…

  56. Pingback: Freya’s Day Freeforall « Margo Roby: Wordgathering

  57. Lost Words (Uncertainty of poetry)

    The words escape my tongue

    rolled slightly off the tip–

    of the iceberg



    out the door

    into arctic coolant deep

    slipped, into ice cold

    dimming waters




    my words frozen

    weighted, sinking

    bearing load


    my heart doesn’t float…

    …too well

    to the bottom


    like lead

    at the end of

    journey well traveled



    Benjamin Thomas

  58. The Problem

    Bellies swollen,
    Stick-thin arms
    Reaching in desperation,
    They starve.
    And You love them.

    Intricate and delicate,
    Enclosed miraculously
    In another’s body,
    They die.
    And You love them.

    Minds cunning,
    Stealing life
    And daily bread,
    You abhor them.
    And they prosper.

  59. Pingback: Nothing Lasts Forever « echoes from the silence

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