There Isn’t A Law Against That, Is There?

RDP Wednesday Prompt ” BUSY”  –What does “busy” mean to you? Use it as an adjective or a verb, and let’s hear your bustling ideas. Share your interpretation of the day’s prompt using engrossing words or engaging pictures.

I’m not busy,

I’m just killing time.

Good thing there isn’t a law against that

because I’d be locked up for good, maybe I’d even get the chair.


They used to hang people in my State

for murder

so I’d end up doing  that crazy dance

at the end of the rope

for Killing time

Murder in the First Degree

because I didn’t have anything better

anything more  worthwhile

to do.

The Determined Passenger

From a Prompt created at a writing group I joined called “Bancroft Manor”

At The Crossroads

Photo by Pixabay on

I ride the same train to and from work five days a week.

I  take the same seat next to the window near the middle of the car  so I  can charge my phone, God knows why I hardly ever get calls or texts.

I suppose I do that because it’s what one does and when one is in public one makes the effort to belong.

One day a new passenger got on the train and of all the seats she could have taken, she took the one in front of me.

She smiled.

I did not because it didn’t matter what I said or did. I doubt if she even really saw me.

The new person, phone in hand gave it a little swipe with her finger and then she disappeared, as most people do, into the small screen.

I was relived.

New people…

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The Quiet House

Na/GloPoWriMo Day 17 Challenge:  Write a poem that  presents a scene from an unusual point of view.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

I used to be like the other houses

that lined the streets of this town

I had curtains in my windows, mail in my mailbox

a dog house in the backyard.


One year I was painted white, another year I was painted brown

I had a lawn jockey at the end of my driveway

and roller skates and bikes in my front yard


And then one day the mail piled up and spilled from

outside of it’s well worn box

the curtains blew in  and  out  of my empty window frame

my  furnace ran until the oil ran out.


My bedrooms are always full of

sleepers who don’t dream or toss or turn

they never get cold or hungry

they never say a word.


But sometimes

they wake

and sometimes they walk

and sometimes their dog

who lives far away

snaps open his eyes and barks


at nothing, it’s nothing his new owners say

as they watch him run to the window and cry

it’s nothing

he’s just dreaming, let him be, he will be okay.