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 Pexels.com

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.

 

 

Despair The Commuter

Na/GloPoWriMo Day 16:   Write a poem that uses the form of a list to defamiliarize the mundane.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Down to the tracks, rusty old bones

Each morning I ride them, with half open eyes

Sadly they bear me far  from home

Purring in happiness  the blue and green beast steals me away

All around the air is stale with heavy sighs

Iron and concrete unburied remains the air is stale are we all corpses?

Ride the monster twice a day, Despair the Commuter is my name.

Photo A.M Moscoso

The Family That Rock and Roll Together Stays Together

RDP Tuesday: Drop:  How do you photograph a hum? Or is there a picture that makes you hum or an idea.

Music has always been a big part of my life and in the life of my family.

We sing, we play instruments, we go to concerts- and the music we enjoy varies from one person to the next but in the end we all find something we love in what the other person enjoys too.

So here are some pictures that make me hum…and a few songs that popped into my head when I saw these particular pictures.

amm

 

Luis and Julio Moscoso
Photo By A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Grave Secrets

Na/GloPoWriMo Day15: Write your own dramatic monologue. It doesn’t have to be quite as serious as Browning or Shakespeare, of course, but try to create a sort of specific voice or character that can act as the “speaker” of your poem, and that could be acted by someone reciting the poem.

 

I found something buried in the Gardener’s Shed and I ask you, my late night visitor,  why would someone bury something that wasn’t quite dead?

The thing in the shed isn’t buried very deep, so if you were to crawl over the dead fall in front of the door and were able to push your way through he matted cobwebs and you didn’t mind the smell of rotting leaves and small unburied creatures you’d see there under the window a slightly raised mound of earth.

Were you to look at the raised mound long enough and the light somehow managed to find it’s way through the little panes of glass covered with dust and dirt you’d think someone was lying there on their side with one arm cradling their cheek and the other laying comfortably on their side.

Wouldn’t you?

If you brought a flashlight and the beam was bright you might think you could see something wrong with the entire left side of the sleeping figure’s face. You might think that maybe that the face was gone, smashed in by something like that shovel in the corner.

Isn’t that right?

They might wonder what you were doing back there in a rotting shed behind the Manor House in the dead of Night, they might see you take the shovel and try to smooth and pound that little raised mound of Earth flat.

That’s what they’d see wouldn’t they?

So I must ask you again, why would you bury something that is not dead yet? Go ahead you can tell me. It will be a secret between me and you. Just keep your hands were I can see them.