cronechronicler

Exploring the poetry of everyday life

Haiku: Breakfast Story

Day did not start well
Flipped egg uneasy over
Landed on stove top

Cooked there anyway
Toast unattended burned some
Salted all and ate.

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Words With Wings

Poem with profound thoughts
That once graced this blog-world page
Vanished without trace.

A single keystroke
Launched by tech-world enemy
Exploded my post.

April Fool’s on me.

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Haiku – Shine and Potential: Aging’s Own Perogatives

Colonoscopy.
Hardly topic one would chose
To write poems about.

Doctor blew my mind
Checking out if I’m the one
He’s supposed to treat.

“You can’t be the one.
You don’t look your age, my dear.”
Talk about delight.

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Less Is More – Or not?

The Daily Prompt asks if I agree with Edna Ferber’s statement, “Perhaps too much of everything is as bad as too little”. Yes, of course I agree. This is a no-brainer for me. I constantly have the feeling of being overwhelmed by the “too much-ness” of today’s culture. Celebrities and their Twitters (which I do not read but can’t help but be aware of when I tread through all that fake news on my computer screen before reaching the safe – relatively –  harbor of my e-mail) are a sign to me of too much social media gone awry. All the talk about food, food, food makes me feel fat – but I confess I watch food shows in summer when TV offerings are slim-pickings. Everywhere on the Internet ads appear to sell me something. It is impossible to Google solutions for my computer when it is doing poorly without being taken in by a helpful crook. The other day I felt lucky to get out of that loop with only a $29.99 fixer’s fee. I intend to get better at recognizing scams. At least the other day I exploded at a phone caller telling me my computer was not working. I told the person (I feel sorry for people who earn their living this way) that my computer works just fine. Furthermore I did not believe he was who he said he was. I did not want to go into this with him. And I was going to hang up. It was awesome to bang down the receiver and pat myself on the back.

Paradoxically , I also experience the folly of acting on my less-is-more philosophy. When I moved long distance to my new home, I carefully packed the bare necessities, partly to save money on the moving truck (actually two smallish pods), and partly because I was tired of “things and stuff”. Unpacking my boxes was exhausting and left me wanting a glass of wine at the end of the day. I had packed a bottle of wine – obviously a bare necessity – and a beer opener, but no corkscrew. I hurried over to the hardware store just as they were locking the door for the day. I told them my story and convinced them to let me in so I could open my wine. In the two years I’ve lived here I have steadily replaced things I hadn’t considered necessities – additional plates and glasses for company, pots and pans left behind because I planned to give up cooking for myself, as well as for company (which I expected little of), and new recipes when I knew I had to repay the kind invitations of people I’m meeting in my apartment, as well as family. I still haven’t invited company but I plan to. I have drawn the line at family. I cooked a meal for my son and his family to celebrate his fiftieth birthday. I spent most of their visit in the kitchen laboring  over fixing one of my new recipes which left little time for playing a card game they wanted to play. My son said next time let’s order pizza and spend more time together playing cards.

On second thought, maybe Edna Ferber and I should meet somewhere in the middle.

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What Did I Just Say?

The Daily Prompt wonders how I misuse words. I do, too.

On a perfect summer afternoon I was sitting in our usual place under the oak tree by the pool with my friends the “Word Ladies”. The apartment manager years ago gave the ladies a round metal table and matching chairs that a departed tenant left behind. That afternoon someone brought out the gray duffel bag containing the water-proof chair cushions that we keep stored in the bath house. Someone else retrieved the red bag containing cards for playing our game, Scrabble Dictionaries, the bottle of Listerine we use as bug spray – it really works! – and the black plastic bag of small rocks we use to hold down the cards on a windy day. When we look out our windows and see the red bag placed on the metal table we know that the card game is on for that day. It’s like a flag on the beach that signals to “come on in, the water’s fine”. Over time we have developed rituals worthy of any Japanese Tea Ceremony.

The game we play is called Royalty, a descendent of Scrabble. Each player is dealt a hand of seven cards with letters on them instead of little tiles. Like Scrabble the object is to make words. Unlike Scrabble we build on and change each others words to make new ones. The fun is changing other players’ words. In the process of creating new words from existing ones, we come up with words we aren’t sure how to spell. In this case I tend to spell from the sound of words and find “u”‘s combined with “a”‘s and “o”‘s particularly challenging. On this perfect afternoon I was so challenged. I told the ladies that I was sometimes loose with my vowels. There was dead silence followed by a roar of laughter. When I “got it” my face turned red. And then I joined in the best belly laugh I’ve had in ages.

 

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