Six Word Saturday

Tomorrow: Visiting The World’s Windiest Spot

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Tomorrow, My Beloved Sandra and I will visit Mt. Washington in New Hampshire. Technically speaking, my meager research shows one other spot has experienced higher winds (Barrow Island, Australia; 4/10/1996; a gust of 253 mph) but since it was an un-manned observatory and therefore nobody was there to observe it…well, umm… we Yankees still have bragging rights, I suppose, eh?

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More Cool Sixers HERE
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The newRon.

I never thought I’d live long enough 
to have opinions or hear myself say anything
about life in the 21st Century, but

yesterday, a couple achy decades in,
I knew I had already arrived;
my day-to-day challenges had changed:

I got worried about the future future.

Huddled with My Beloved Sandra,
contemplating yet another change,
on top of all the other changes,

I felt myself wearing a skeptical frown,
heard my ancient, worried self asking,
“Do you think 100 Gigs will be enough?”

Time To Remodel?

Sevenling (no one loves) *

No one loves my Janey. Nobody.
No matter where they encounter her,
no one even pretends she’s there.

It doesn’t matter where she goes
or who she meets, or what she says
or doesn’t. Janey remains invisible.

Good thing I have a spare room.

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In case you’re baffled, just let me say that today’s rejection slip confirms that my unpublished chapbook, The Janey Poems, will remain unpublished. For now.

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* Not familiar with the Sevenling form? You can read all about it HERE.
Fair Warning: Addictive
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dVerse Poets
Open Link Night
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dverse-nightime-final

We Da Bug?

After we went out on Friday night
wolfed down a couple burgers
and an overabundance of Cuervo

I sat on Saturday’s morning porch
(more than just a little hungover;
certainly not hungry for breakfast)

I watched two bright blue gladiators
—a jay and an indigo bunting—
play Tug-O’-War over a caterpillar.

And when I was a kid, I saw a crow
on the treehouse window frame
gobbling down a Monarch butterfly:

two quick chomps was all it took;
the bug was gone but the wings,
apparently indigestible, remained.

I know there’s a lesson here somewhere
but I’m damned if I can figure it out.
Caterpillars become butterflies but, ummm…

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Poets And Storytellers United
Weekly Scribble #73
~ Butterflies and Moths ~
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poets and storytell

How To Placid

(Thanks to Guest Host Tricia Sankey for asking us to get frisky with “Risk”)
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roulette

How To Placid

You can flip all the coins you want,
roll and roll and roll the dice,
play Rock/Paper/Scissors
‘til your fingers fall off.

None of that stuff matters.
Avoid the risk.

Take no chances.
Whatever is, is.
Get used to it.
Just Breathe.
Breathe.

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dVerse Poets
Tuesday Poetics
~ Take A Risk ~
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dverse-nightime-final

Escapee

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Escapee (Shadorma)

I’m not bound.
I’ve untied myself.
At long last
I have learned:
there is no such thing as rope;
(not even kitestring)

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Shadorma: Sestet with a syllable count: 3-5-3-3-7-5
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Twiglet #230
~ No Rope ~
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twiglet

The Lesson Reiterated

(Exactly 144 words for today’s Prosery Challenge at dVerse Poets: to incorporate the highlighted words of Jo Harjo into a composition of 144 words or fewer)

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The Lesson Reiterated

When I turned on the television, halfway through the program, The Guru had already begun her closing remarks. I heard her say, “Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end.”

Since I’d tuned in at about the halfway mark, I surmised that she was right about there being no beginning (for me, at least). Since I was already late for my appointment, I turned the set off again, thereby disproving the second half of her assertion—or so I thought.

I recognize, though, that halfway through something can still be a starting point, and that terminating The Guru’s remarks does not constitute an ending to the wisdom being offered.

I’d like to think that I’m self-enlightened, but I know I’ve got this Guru (and countless others before her) to thank for whatever wisdom I have gained over the years.

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dVerse Poets
Prosery Monday
~ Finding Your Way ~
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dverse-nightime-final

Dharma Sunrise

Sky-blue pink over breezeless morning.
Still. Again. Yet. All roads lead.

Precipice. Trail. Valley. Overture:
Streamsong. Rockbabble. Space. Breathe.

Breathe. Breathe. Climb. Again. Horizon.

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Writers’ Pantry #73
~ Encouraging Ourselves ~
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