Ay caramba. It's me, Fireblossom, back from the land of broken keyboards. Who knew spray cleaner could be so deadly? Last Friday, Mama Zen kindly stood in for me, so here I am, standing in it on a Wednesday!
My original day to post was December 7th, which is Pearl Harbor Day here in the United States. My misadventure with Spic N Span has only filled me with a terrible resolve (Resolve?) to go with my original theme ... calamities.
I want you to write about the roof caving in.
Tell me about a bad diagnosis
or a failed romance.
Write a poem about getting that pink slip, or slipping down some other slippery slope.
They say, if you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs, then you don't understand the situation!
No retreads, please. No off-topic haiku about the pretty flowa. Gimme disaster, baby, then sign the linky so the schadenfreude can begin!
One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.