The Next Day

The next day
I find myself
Much the same
Only completely different
As the day before
So go the weeks
Years of life
Past, present
The big questions answered
Without much ado

(Post Marathon bonus, Book 99, #19339)


Not my style
Going to pass
And stick
With what I know
So you can drop the prompt
But it just isn’t for me
Thanks all the same

(Book 99 #19338
and the end of my first ever Poetry Marathon! Half Marathon has been a whole experience.)

Dear Me

Dear Me,

I know you cannot possibly comprehend
That I am your future
But trust me, I am
I see the choices you have before you
And I urge you
That when the time comes to choose
You make the choice that is right
Not the choice that is easy
While it may not seem like it now
It will impact every aspect of your life
For the rest of your life
I love you and
I need you to love yourself
And never
Never stop pursuing your dreams
With unparalleled love,

Me (your future self, 2019 Version)

(Book 99 #19337)

Put it to Bed

Is it early
Or is it late
Frankly I’ve lost
All track of time
Is the light
Streaming in
Sunbeams or moonbeams
The brain fog
Doesn’t even go away
With coffee
It merely allows
For concrete thoughts
Damn if I’m not
Ready to put this
Book to bed
Better yet
To see it upon the bookstore shelf
And listen to the hush
Within my mind

(Book 99 #19336)


As an avid reader
It is always a
Life changing experience
To find
Not merely a book
But a series
Which will touch you
Long after the book
Or the series
Has ended
My hat is off
To Ms Gabaldon
For providing just that
And then some
In her Outlander series

(Book 99 #19335)


He was such a precocious child
He was such a warm-hearted child
He was such an affectionate child

He has become so apathetic
He has become so cold
He has become so hard

Yet I love him still and forever.

(OK, this one tested my poetic mettle, as I’ve never been keen on form poetry.)

Bad Music

There is nothing worse
Than having to listen
To bad music
When there is
An entire world
Of music out there
To choose from

Jack in the Box

Stuck inside
Four walls
With no way out
But it is where
You put me
How nice and neat
For you
To keep me here
But I
Don’t belong here
I ain’t no damn
Jack in the Box
Where you can shut the lid
On me
Whenever you want


Nothing hurts
There’s nothing to
Be stressed about
All is right
And good in the world
Everything is perfect

(Book 99 #19331)


The spices were fresh picked
From the garden this morning
And having been washed and dried
Now lay in the summer sunshine
To dry
As I finished wiping my hands
On my apron
I saw the butterfly
Land gently
Upon the spiced orange slices
Which would soon fill
Sachet bags
To sweeten my wardrobe
Throughout the fall months
For a moment I stood transfixed
Watching as the butterfly sat
And I knew
At that moment
That my task
Had been deemed good
Not just good enough
By my forebears