Hitting the Road.......

Optimus5.com

Happy Late New Year Toads!!!!!  Herotomost here, sitting and dreaming of traveling as usual.  Nothing like a good trip to soothe the soul and to get your heart and mind in the right place.  Doesn't matter what type of trip, whether you are flying there, taking a bus or maybe tramping down the Mississippi River on a paddle boat.  Seeing the differences and similarities between culture, everyday life, scenery and weather is grounding and uplifting at the same time.  This prompt is about one specific type of trip.  The kind of trip that allows maximum face time with your surroundings.  The kind where you can't help to make your own sound track, plug it in and sing at the top of your lungs while doing 80 on a two lane highway between Capitan and Roswell New Mexico or between  Scotts Bluff and Alliance Nebraska or wherever it is that your itinerary takes you across this great big ol' world in which we live. Yes Toad's, I am talking about the road trip. The top down (or window open, unless you are Izy this time of year, she might freeze to death) music blaring and you singing at the top of your lungs (and yes you do sound just like the song).  Oh, and let's not forget the snacks.  When I was younger and didn't have to worry about the waistline as much, my snacks of choice where puffy Cheetos, peanut M&M's and Dr. Pepper. Now its likely to be Rice Cakes and Ensure. Any way you slice it, the road trip can be an awesome way to reach your destination while enjoying all the space in between.

Shareably.com

So enough babbling. The prompt my dear Toad's is to think back to a particularly good or bad road trip you have had and write about it.  You can write about any facet, the company, car troubles, the scenery, the destination, whatever floats your boat. The piece can be in whatever form you would like, poetry, prose, religious text or bulk mail flyer. As always, has to be new and as always, if this prompt offends anyone or you just hate the subject matter and can't get into it, you can skip or write any darn thing you want.  I'm easy.

Onward and upward my friends, love you all and I can't wait to read what you come up with!!!!

Mashable.com

The Hearts Desire

letsmakeapainting.com

     Just to the west of a Texas prairie town, maybe Midland, maybe Odessa ("It's in Odessa. I'm from Odessa. I was born there.") at the end of of a rutted, overgrown, dirt road, I came upon this cottage. Dusk had brought its evening palette and had begun to paint in ever broadening strokes it's warning of the impending night and its countless anxiety laced secrets. There were no signs of habitation, no modes of transportation or a remnant of a days work, there was only the desperate wails of the cicadas as they contemplated the length of a life surely at the cheated end of the biological spectrum. The cottage, sturdily built out of only the best salvaged lumber and thrice used nails, while remote, had an inviting charm that tugged at the soul of the casual passer, inviting even a total stranger to find a curious comfort within the ramshackle walls. Sunlight gave way to a steady but low light coming from the windows. It was a comfortable light, the kind of light you eat biscuits by, the kind of light only good mother's turned out while kissing the forehead of that devil by day, angel by night child, knowing that the dark is tight fisted baby sitter and the bringer of peace and wine.

     At the head of the path, near the porch was a stone plaque of sorts set into a concrete foundation. The plaque, constructed of smooth faced, gray, granite, the occasional rivulet of black or pink catching that last of the evening light and turning the face into a road map flecked with quartz. I imagined at that moment that the flecks were the location of diamond mines, this thought illuminating the  folly that the mind glimpses in that hour between the real light of day and the translucent ghost light of the evening. On the plaque in bold carved letters were the following lines:

For the soft of heart, to spread the love
For the feint of heart, a friendly shove
For the stony heart, a sculptures core
For the hungry ghosts, wanting more

Make a wish, break the bread and see the truth in the morn.......


Hey Toads....Heorotomost here.  So its been quite a year for me, published my book, quit smoking, quit my job, started a business with my wife, yeah it has been exhausting but super fulfilling at the same time. As the Holidays approach I realize that I have pretty much fulfilled my new year resolutions (a first) and I am in a bit of a reflective mood. Hence, todays Friday prompt.  In the little scenario I wrote above, I was thinking about wishes.  What if there was this cottage, this wish cottage where if you stumbled upon it you could have one wish.  For the prompt I don't want it to be the same old wish that you might throw out when asked this question.  I want you to reflect on the right now and here, whats going on around you personally or in the world.  If you are heavy hearted about recent events, if you are joyful and full of love and light about others, I want you to consider your present and make that wish in the form of a piece of writing. No form, only function.  I want to know your hearts desire. This will be the first reviewing I have done in a while and I am looking forward, that is if I haven't been disowned!!! LOl.

As an added bonus, without looking it up on the net, if anyone can tell me where the Odessa quote in the parentheses above is from, I will write a piece specifically for you, to you and about anything you want me to and present it to you as my Christmas gift to you....Oh Joy!!!!!!! And you wanted a new iPad....sheesh.


Love each and every one of you, hope you enjoy the prompt.  I look forward to reading anything that anyone has to offer, you have never let me down.

The Last Supper......

Ohhh, my dear Toads, it is good to see you.  It is my week for a prompt, and it seems all I can do to fit any writing time in these days. Starting our own business and tying up loose ends with the old employer and being fair about it have been a bit of a stressful situation.  But the time is upon us to strike out on our own and do our own thing, epic fail or gargantuan success, we do it on our own terms.

....And what do I do dear friends when stress becomes overbearing, when the world seems to weigh a metric ton, when the voices in my head are in overdrive? I eat.  Never fail. Diet or no, when it gets to be too much I find a nice dinner out with my love is just the prescription to get me through.  We often discuss this question:

 "What if the this was your last meal, for whatever reason, and you knew it was your last meal, what would you eat?"

To date we have been very consistent, hers is Clams Linguini from Tomaso's in North Beach (San Fran). Mine is pretty pathetic, but it is pizza and wings from Fuzzy's Pizza here in Phoenix, that pizza is like crack to me.  You would think I would pick some other culinary deliciousness, but when the rubber meets the road, I'm eating as much Fuzzy's as I can if its my last meal.  I wonder if you never finish your meal if whatever is going to happen to you can happen? Sorry sidetracked, its not hard with me.

Tomaso's Clams Linguini

For today's prompt ladies and gentlemen, I challenge you to think of what your last meal would be, the setting you are in when you are eating it and any last thoughts, emotions, feelings that might be floating through your head as you are enjoying or not enjoying that last tempting morsel.  As always this writing can be in the form of a manufacturers sticker, legalese on the back of a credit card (please include your security code), a poem, a screenplay, business card.  I care not about the form or format, you know I just like to pick at those juicy brains of yours...the are so full of wonderful images.

Fuzzy's Pizza

So if you are inclined, if you are not too stressed out, join me in the prompt.  If you find this meal not to your liking or if your delicate sensibilities are offended, please write whatever you want, after all, that is whats important.  Love you each and every one!

Passage - A Personal Challenge from Manicdaily (the Outlawyer), Karin Gustafson

Good morning Monday to all the Toads in all the corners of the Garden on this fabulous Monday.  Herotomost here.  Arm yourself with a cup of coffee (maybe with a little Bailey's) and sit down for a minute before the hectic work week begins and give yourself a little treat.

It was my turn to put up the Personal Challenge here at Toads and I chose Karin Gustafson!!! But, like most of the stuff I do, I procrastinated a bit and it came down to finally getting a hold of Karin while I was on my annual trip to Mexico. So as I was emailing her from my sunny spot beachside, she was in New York battling the crisp, cold New York weather.  It hardly seemed fair. But, as you know, Karin is an ever-present personality in our little garden community and always has a kind word for those who try to express their life, love, joy, desperation and frustration in words and hope that they find common cause with the anyone else in the universe.

Because of our polar opposite positions in the world at the time I presented her with the following prompt.  I told her she was in her room in New York and there was a curious door that appeared to go nowhere, but when she finally opened the door, she saw that it was a portal to a tropical sunny place, one of her choosing and to use that juxtaposition to write a piece about the differences, the similarities, the vibe etc.  of instantly traveling between both places.

I have to say, not that I was surprised at all, that Karin nailed it. As you will see below she painted a picture not only of physical location but one of emotional connection to the "what if" nature of the challenge.

I greatly appreciate Karin taking me up on the challenge and applaud the effort she has put in,  If you get the chance (and I am sure most have, visit her blogs and have a look a the wonderful writing and illustrations she has, she is an amazing artist, seems like an amazing person and her new nickname may have to be Ms. Murder, because she always kills it!!!!!!

Thanks Karin!!!!!!!!

Passage

The passageway to warmth
is as wide as it need be--
the breadth of your body, the breath
of your body--
sighs sized to stretch us both
into foreshortened
longing--
a night narrow
as two spoons.

But when, feeling lone,  
the brain becomes
a dislocated bone,
when crevices
hutch stone, darkness thickens
and even walls pass judgment,
one confuses
ways-away.

Some mistake
an unlit oven
for possible passage (the speckle
of its inner midnight misread
as splotches of star),
consider cuts channels, purge
as release, oblivion
a coveted tease--

when--I have to believe--
if time could just
be waited upon, warmth might alight
in windowed panes,
great trapezoids of sun winnowed
from the meanest cracks,
brightnesses to bring us back
into blink and dazzle,
a radiance that lets us wear
its raiment as our own, quickening
whatever lists into its frame and, too,
what simply looks on. 

**********************************

Manicddaily, Karin Gustafson, here (somehow also known as Outlawyer, due to a momentary blip years ago--agh--Google never forgets!)  

Yes, I may just call it a draft, since I’m still changing this, and frankly, am not sure it shouldn’t simply end with the first stanza, simply as a kind of love poem.    

Many thanks to Corey for thinking of me to do a challenge, and for coming up with this one in particular, which led me to write a couple of different poems, and was an especially appealing topic in frozen New York. 

Road Trip!!!

Well we officially made it to 2015 Toads! Give yourself a nice round of applause and then strap it back on and lets get this year moving in the right direction.

Herotomost here and I think that 2015 is going to be a fantastic year for me personally and here in the garden. It's my first challenge of the new year and with it I want to wax nostalgic about a hot little number I new when I was 16.  Her lines were hectic. Her rear end a little greasy. I have to tell you the truth, she really got me going, she was a fox.  A 1974 Audi Fox that is.  Oxidized orange with one brown fender, no grill and she whistled when I drove down the road.  If anyone has ever had a old german car....you know how she smelled.  Her name was Julie, of course it was, that was the name of one of the many girls who I adored but wouldn't give me the time of day. The car I drive has changed, but the way women treat me has remained the same.

This is About a million times nicer than the one I had.

My challenge today is for you to summon up memories of that first mode of transport, the one that gave you the freedom to get from A to B without that nosy family butting in.  Maybe it was a car, maybe a horse or maybe a motorcycle.  I want you to write a little ditty in any format you would like describing not only the details of this majestic beast, but how it made you feel.  As usual there are no rules except it has to be an original.  If this one isn't your cup of tea, feel free to skip or write a bit of whatever you want and post it.  We'll still read it.

Here's to all of you on this shiny new year....behave each and everyone of you, or not, you're all adults.

I don't know what to think....really.

Oh my dear Toads what a week it has been.  I am sitting in my RV in Campland in San Diego on Mission Bay right now thinking about what I should post for my Friday.  Should it be Thanksgiving...no, someone else probably has that covered.  Should I post a prompt about San Diego?  Nahhhh....not everyone has been there. Then I thought....Herotomost, you are a damn fool (I finally see what you all have seen since I've been here).  You just gave your daughter away on Monday and were a wreck beyond wrecks for the entire day before and for the entire event.  Toads let me tell you, and many of you probably know already, I had no idea how I should be feeling about the auspicious event.  I mean, the 18 months of planning by my daughter was insufferable.  The price tag hard for a man of my meager means to support.  But onward and upward and soon enough it was time for the wedding.  Up until that point it seemed like something happening to someone else.  Then all of the sudden, it was upon me and I had know idea how to feel about it.  I was numb, I was sad, I was happy for her, for me, for her groom David.  I was bitchy, I was emotional and I was all around a bit of a mess.  I was a mess until she said I do, until I gave the speech, until we had father-daughter dance. At that point I was just grateful that she was happy, and that the wedding was everything she had hoped.

My wife and I in our finery

I look like the kid from A Christmas Story in his snow suit but my daughter looked exquisite

So my lovelies, today's prompt is to think about a situation in your own life in which you had no idea how to feel about what was happening.  I think it happens all the time.  Not just weddings, but funerals, death, love, lust, births. Anything.  Like always, form is of no consequence....none whatsoever.  Just tell me your experience the best way you know how.

I want to wish each and everyone of you the Happiest of Thanksgivings.  Eat, drink and be merry, and if this prompt is not in the cards on this holiday weekend then so be it, just have fun whatever you do.

Its ma thing.........

Hey Toads, Happy Friday!!!!!!!! Herotomost here, been getting ready for our annual Halloween party.  It would be easy enough to come up with a Halloween themed Friday Challenge but I am about sick of Halloween after decorating for three weeks..lol. So forgive me...especially you Kerry, darling, light of my life because I am going to get nostalgic.  I know, romance....nostalgia....just like the title of the challenge, it's ma thing.

For this challenge I want you to think back to your childhood.  I want you to think about all the things that you were into. My sister was into horses, then band, then boys, then music and boys.  I was into KISS (posters all over my wall), I was into writing (unfortunately never really got any better...lol) I was into well, thats about it, maybe music. My niece who is growing up to look and sound just like my sister just won a contest to sing the national anthem at the National Finals Rodeo.  Pretty big deal since it was a national contest. She's into singing and music, much like my sister was.  Its hard to come up with things that you are as excited about as you get older.  But those few things that turned your crank when you were young were so consuming, so intoxicating.

So, I want you to think back to what your big thing was at some point during your life.  Think about how you felt, good, bad, overwhelmed, relaxed, fulfilled, sad.  Whatever filled your heart and head for good and bad reasons....I want you to write me something that encompasses that feeling.  As always, it can be a poem, short story, a slogan, a technical manual, a catch phrase on a sticker, whatever.  Form is of no consequence on planet Herotomsost.  But please do look back and feel those feelings, hear those sounds, smell those smells.  Show me what you were into and tell me....It was ma thing!

Happy Halloween Toads, love you all, behave or not...you all resemble adults.

Trolling The Cosmos for Breadcrumbs........

Swamp by Polyraspad

Herotomost here Toads, trying to do a good deed in exchange for my bad deed of forgetting my Friday Challenge last Friday.  Shay asked if I could fill in this week and after much begging and gnashing of teeth, Kerry relented but, then quickly indicated that it does not solve the issue of my probation for missing my post. She also indicated that I must still wear the manacles and leather chaps through the remainder of the month....not sure what the leather chaps are about but hey, do the crime...yeah, yeah.

So here it goes...picture a Louisiana swamp, not a roadside swamp.  I am talking a back woods, have to fight alligators and water moccasins and giant spiders, while poling your skiff across murky green-brown water.  The smell of decay so thick that when you blow your nose, mushrooms cover the paisley pattern of your handkerchief. What the hell are you doing here? This no place for a writer of your caliber.  No place for someone with your delicate sensibilities.  No place for a Toad that belongs writing poetry in the Garden of the Gods.  It so happens, that while having a plate of crawfish and a couple of high balls at Shreveport's finest dining establishment, you over a heard a young woman sobbing while talking to an old man at a corner table.  You cocked your ear and heard a story of misery and woe from the woman and a tale of a perpetually young boy of 12 who knows the Universal Truth, from the old man. You overheard directions and warnings, the exchanging of coin and a trail of endless thank you's as the woman rushed out the door. You turned to grab your bag from the back of the chair, intending on joining the old man to get more details on just what this man believes is the secret to life, the universal truth, but when you turned back he was gone.  With what little description you gleaned and armed with a sense that this would make the greatest story ever, you man (or woman) up and go in search of the Universal Truth.

Deep in the swamp you come across a dilapidated wooden structure, a shack on stilts.  On the porch is what looks to be this twelve year old boy.  You climb from your skiff and make your way on to the porch.  As you approach, you look into the brown eyes of the boy and your heart stops beating in your chest.  You hook gazes with the boy whose eyes are empty and full at the same time. When you look deeper you can see the universe spinning in each eye, stars forming, planets winking out, the cries of an infinite number of organic life forms.  You snap out of your trance long enough to ask him the question......"What is the Universal Truth?"

Wall Art - Isla Holbox Mexico

And he says......


Oh, this is your part dear Toads....please put it the form of an ancient Aboriginal stone carving.  Not!!!!! You know you can use any form that you would like....poem, short, flash, incomplete sentence, billboard.  But I want to know what the boy says, can it be true?  Is it just hyperbola, is he Tony Robbins son?  Who knows...oh wait, you do.  Muster what you can and thanks for being patient and reading through this little scenario, I am sure it will produce some great writing.  Off to Vegas for a wedding, will read throughout the weekend as I can. Love you all and have a great weekend.

In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lamb.....

Well, its Friday my dear Toads. This is Herotomost and I find myself surrounded by Leos.  Not sure what my penchant is for surrounding myself with Leos, but it has happened and I find myself floating on a see of golden manes, unrivaled prowess and spirited beauty on a daily basis. Friends, family and co-workers. Its not a bad thing, I just wonder why.  If you believe in all that astrological mojo, there doesn't seem to be a specific reason for it I don't think.  But, for as long as I can remember I am a magnet to lions.

So, my Friday challenge will incorporate the "In like a lion, out like a lamb" theme, I am pretty sure with the way this swamp festers with talent, bubbles with inspiration and gurgles with beauty, I should get a more than just a few wonderful pieces of writing. Here's the rules....more for the rule breakers than for the rule followers:

Write me a poem, story, love song, check, excel spread sheet (you know I have no use for form, only content) whatever your heart desires.  I want you to come out of the gates writing with a ferocity or rage that is unbridled, larger than life, too hot to touch, intimidating, filled with sharp teeth, eating small children, overwhelming entire villages....you know....Roarrrrrr!!!!!

I want you to end the piece in a fashion that tapers to a point, burns out, fizzles, lands on faerie feet, gets caught on the current like dandelion fuzz, falls flat, peters out or sweetly disappears....heavy sigh.

Subject matter can be anything, excepts scorpions...I hate scorpions.

So have fun or not, write or not. Just remember I am not the boss of you. Have a great weekend and I can't wait to see what might come of this little safari!!!

Lost Art

Livelovebreathe.com

Happy, Happy Friday Toads!!! Its Herotomost with a Friday challenge for real this time. Can't flub this up two months in a row or I will be in danger of being exiled from the Garden for good. So I will be on my very best behavior, I will not create this challenge in my underwear and I will make sure it gets posted on time. It has been 108-111 degrees here the last week, so anything I can do inside in the air conditioning is a welcome task.

Today I want to talk about the long lost art of letter writing.  My daughter (8) has ben on a jag of letter writing lately, not sure why or how it came about, but she has been writing letters to everyone she knows and sending them.  It got me to thinking how good it feels to get something in the mail that is not a bill, a flyer or some magazine that you don't remember ordering. There is something personal about a letter that can't really be duplicated by email, text or phone conversation.  I think part of it has to do with the being able to take your time, say what you want in unabbreviated terms and the fact that taking the time to do it seems just a little special.

For the challenge, I want to write a piece that mimics the tone or form of a letter to someone.  It can be anyone.  It can be a love letter, a correspondence to the local utility company, a letter to your Great Uncle Ned, an angry letter to your senator, I don't care but be creative with it. Put in those personal touches for which you Toads are so famous.  If you want a little extra twist to the challenge, you can write the letter to one of your writing friends here in the blogosphere and when you are finished, you can stick it in an envelope, stamp it and send.  Think of the warm fuzzy you will give them when they open it and you make them think that you are stalking them. And if your wondering if your toad friends are worth the cost  of a stamp, just think back to all the wonderful support and wonderful writing they have brought you over your stay here in the Garden.

With that I will bid you a fantastic weekend filled with family and friends or rest and relaxation.  Love you all and hope this Challenge finds you well!

Camped Out In the Garden

enpundit.com

Ohhh….you Toads look delicious on this fine Friday.  When I gaze into my crystal ball I see each and every one of you doing what you do best, and that is making the world a better place. Through words, deeds, family, work, I am always so proud of each and every one of you.  Except you Hedge….Ok, you too…damnation quit your hollering, I was only kidding. So unlike some of my USA friends and many of the overseas folks, Spring is really on full tilt boogie in my neck of the woods,  Here in Cowboy Land, eighty plus degree temperatures, plenty of sunshine to shovel, got my pool cleaned and ready for the bikini models to show up at my house for a pool party….its been all too lovely.  I have also been camping a couple of times already this year and that is what I am going too use as inspiration today.  Nothing too hard as I know you are busy planting bulbs, smelling flowers and procreating.

nothjersey.com

I am giving you three choices to choose from this time, maybe that will make it easier, maybe not.  I want you to envision the last time you went camping, or your favorite camping trips as a youngster, or maybe that hot and sultry camping trip you took with a lover that turned out to be an axe murderer.  Think of the feelings, the smells, the sights, the fire, the darkness, peeing outside, whatever you can conjure up in those canyon minds you all seem to possess.  Use one of the following three prompts to write something.  You know the drill, it can be a poem, story, soup can label, underwear tag, screenplay…whatever you want. Now on to the prompts:

1. Write me a Smore, something crisp and crunchy for the beginning and ending stanzas, but soft and gooey in the middle stanzas.  Make it yummy, make it warm and above all don't skimp on the chocolate.

2. Tell me about a bump in the night, a scare, a ghost story.  Something to get my blood pumping, put me on the edge of my seat. No one armed men with hooks on lovers lane though, I am sick of standing trial for that one year in and year out.

3. Give me a Lewis and Clark run down of the lands you have surveyed, what types of indigenous creatures or plants that moved you or utter beauty you beheld, or the near death experience at the hands of Mother Nature.

Ok, there you have it. I am missing the Garden as of late because of all of the traveling and work.  But rest assure good Toads, I will lend an eye and an ear to each on of your delicate submissions, and will savor every morsel long into the night as the coals from the fire burn down to nothing more than shadows and tendrils of smoke.  Love you all and have a happy weekend!!!!

All Mixed Up!!!

Happy Friday my dear Toads, Herotomost here with another improvised challenge, I nearly forgot that I was up today. My post vacation memory still has me sitting on the beach, talking to the Argentinean girls and scarfing on fish tacos that only we were able to get much to the chagrin and irritation of the rest of the guests.  I felt like royalty. Its nice to be special...lol.

Anywho, enough about all that. I want to talk about the age old romantic art of arranging mix tapes for your mad crush. You know, that one mix of perfectly ordered songs that you knew would bring that special someone to their knees, the one that would endear you to him/her so completely that you spent hours trudging through your collection to show them your wide range of musical tastes and the fact that you are as hip as any beatnik sipping coffee and wearing turtle necks on the second floor of Vesuvio.

So to honor this tradition of love, I want you to write me something that screams "look at me my love", but not in a way that is lacy and ethereal like some writing about love.  I want you to be cheesy, lusty, rapturous, obsessed, candid, fun, belligerent or awkward.  I want the real face of love, clumsy and heady, obtuse and full of blushing. You can use the mix tape as a subject or not, but I want that idea to at least hang in the air. This should be new writing, poem, snippet, billboard, short story, autobiography or an ode to a long lost tribe of talking rabbits....I am easy....you know that.

If you feel that this challenge is not for you, you are welcome to skip it or write whatever the hell you want, I like that too. If your piece will over 300,000 words long please inform Kerry as she will already be mad that I have spoken of romance once again, although in my defense...it has been awhile and spring is coming, you know about a young (ha!) mans fancy!!!!!!

Thanks so much for at least considering the challenge, I always look forward to seeing what you have up your sick little sleeves.  Love you all!!!!!

All In the Family!!!!!

 Archie Bunker - All In the Family

Happy Holiday all of my lovely Toads!!!!  Herotomost here with another Friday challenge. I heard those eyes rolling....STOP it!!!!! That is very unholiday like! OK...so this is a shorter than normal challenge as I realize that everyone is super busy, but I hope it is interesting nonetheless.  If not, I apologize up front, I am but a humble challenger and you know my imagination is spotty at best.

Because the holidays are a time for family and friends, this challenge is going to involve our family and friends.  Writing can be a lonely thing, sometimes our family and friends don't quite understand what it is that we are trying to accomplish.  Some do, but their enthusiasm for our love of the craft can be a bit underwhelming.  Soooo....we toil in front of our computers, glass of wine or hand full of chocolate chip cookies in tow and try our hardest to be the best little writers we can. We may show them something we wrote...they may give us an "isn't that lovely", but in the end we end up really just trying to write for each other it seems.

For my challenge I want you to seek out a family member or friend, kids, husband, coworker, someone who doesn't write and ask them to give you an opening line.  It can be just a line, a stanza, a word, or maybe just an idea.  I want you to use that fresh family info to write a little something and then when you are finished, share it with that person.  When you post, I would like you to tell me what their reaction was to what you wrote.

With all that, I would like to throw out my fondest Holiday wishes to everyone of you and let you know I have had a great year with each and everyone of you.  You complete me!!!!!!! Love you all and can't wait to see what you come up with.  As always, if this challenge is not your bailiwick or if it infuriates to the point of wanting my head on a spike, skip it or just write me whatever you want to....I will bear no grudge.

A little Emotion, A Little Romance and a Whole Lotta....ahhhhhhhh.....

Waiting until the last second once again...its just my style, love it or leave it...but...really, don't leave me!!!!!!  My turn for a favorite...a Poet I discovered while shopping at the Visiting Nurses Book Sale in my home town of Phoenix, Arizona.  She has this dark and romantic lilt, you know, the kind that I love and it is packed with emotion and a bit of torture in my opinion.  I am no professional...but this woman saw some things, wrote some things....and I like. Here are a couple as here stuff is rarely long. Hope you enjoy!!!!

ANNA AKHMATOVA

Muse Went Away

Muse went away by the road,
The autumnal, narrow, steep,
And her swarthy feet were slopped,
With large drops of dew in her slip.

I begged her, with hope and fear,
To stay till the winter’s white lace,
She answered, “There is a grave here, 
How can you still breathe in such place?”

I wished to give her a she-pigeon,
The whitest in our doves’ nest,
Bur suddenly and without reason,
She fled after my slender guest.

 

I looked after Muse, and was silent,
I loved only her till my end,
And in skies grew a sunrise giant,
As the gate into her own land.  

 

Thank You, God

Thank you, God: I dream of him more seldom,
And don’t see him now in every place,
The white path with clouds has been laden,
Easy shadows o’er the waters raced.
And all day the chime of bells arose
O’er the ocean of the ploughed soil;
Here the toll is best-heard from Saint John’s 
Belfries which are seen afar, the tall.
I am cutting off the lilac fashioned 
For the brunches that have lost their bloom;
Two black monks passed by in conversation
On the ramparts to the aging doomed. 
Let, for blind me, the plain, dear and earthly
World again be turned into alive.
Our Lord has made my soul healthy
With the icy calm of the non-love. 

When I Write Poems

When I’m embraced by airy inspiration,
I am a bridge between the sky and earth.
Of all what heart high-values in creation
I am a king, when breathing with a verse!

Just if my soul wishes it, my fairy,
I shall give you the peaceful coast band,
Where, with a hum, the pinky sea is carrying
The dreaming tide to reach the dreaming land. 

I can do all, just trust in me: I’m mighty;
I have the roots for kindness and for love;
And if I want, from clouds and from the lightning
I’ll make a cover your sweet bed above.

And I can, dear, create a word such special,
That it would change laws of the whole world,
To call again its own celebration
And stop the sun from fall in the night cold.

I’m all another in my inspiration,
I am a bridge between the sky and earth.
Of all what heart high-values in creation
I am a king, when breathing with a verse!

Yeah....just sayin'. let me know what you think! Blogger is messing up on me so I cant get the spacing exactly right...forgive me.

A Garden Variety WhoDunnit or......Those Damn Toads

August 30, 2025

Way back in 2013 The Garden was different than it is today.  The garden was a bar a grill on Bourbon Street, decorated in rich wood and red leather it looked and felt like a cross between a wine bar, an Irish pub, and a brothel. The patrons of the Garden were still called toads, not toads like we think of ourselves today, but toads of the low and slimy variety, artists that everyone who wasn't a toad loathed because they were sure these "artists" had never worked a day in their lives, writing down their "emotions," painting pictures of idealistic nonsense and crafting a second rate reality form the scraps that other "decent people gave them."

The proprietor of the Garden was a lovely woman whose name escapes me, but she was from South Africa, she moved to New Orleans after a herd of wild rhino's flattened her house. Her family blamed her because she was always feeding the stray Rhino's.  The garden was her fresh attempt at her own second rate reality. On this day, she was sitting at the long ornate garden bar, sipping a glass of dandelion wine chatting up the hot bartender, and working on what would one day be heralded as the perfect poem. She was one line from finishing it and already quite buzzed from the wine and the muscular arms that busied themselves in front of her.

The other toads were lounging, talking, writing and fighting at various tables and booths around the Garden, the trash talk was always a bit uncomfortable and was laced with more than just a bit of truth.  Hedge was planting some Night Blooming Freesias in a pot at a corner table and trying to avoid eye contact with Herotomost.  She found him loathsome and boring and a bit pudgy for her liking.  An arrogant bastard with a penchant for the drink. Lola Mouse, Grace (looking up hot pictures for her hot posts) and Margaret were in the corner trying to help Kay come up with a word that rhymes with bastard, while Susie, Kim and Ella played groupies to Shay as she strummed her Martin D28 and began to play every Emmy Lou Harris song she could muster. The fact that Susie was in nothing but a tube top, hot pants and six inch wedges surprised no one as she rarely wore any clothes at all while in the garden.

Mama Zen sat alone in a corner of the room fashioning voo doo dolls of some of the toads, the ones that made flippant comments on her writing and the ones that just annoyed her in general would be the first to feel the curse of the Z....she laughed to herself and sipped at her Absinthe. Sherry, Amy, Latonya and Peggy were drawing pictures for ideas that they had for tattoos that Hannah was going to tattoo on them that evening.  Every one had a good idea for a tattoo except Sherry who insisted that she wanted a full back piece that involved two fat naked Sumo Wrestlers brandishing light sabers and eating fried chicken.

At 3:30 a door on the mezzanine opened and out flowed Izy, and when I say flowed, I mean flowed.  Draped in white chiffon and lace, one of those longish cigarette holders in one hand and a Chocolate martini in the other, "dessert in a glass," she would always say....and she had dessert a lot. Izy leaned over the railing and screamed that all the toads where fakes and posers, "and further more, you pathetic excuses for artists, I want to inform you all," just then the lights went out, Herotomost screamed like a little girl. When they came back on, the only thing that was different, was that the chic from South Africa had her head on the bar, she was sobbing. Marian rushed to see what was wrong, and to ask her when she was going to finish her damn book, when she saw it.  On the bar top was a news release announcing the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry had been awarded to a poet by the name of Filthy Frog.  The problem was that the poem was the one that South Africa had just finished with the exception of the last line........which really didn't fit.

Today fair toads (and I know you all are not the low and slimy kind), your challenge is to write a poem, story, alliteration, single word, song, rant, affidavit or so forth telling us which toad was the poem thief and what the missing last line was that didn't quite fit.

I have to let you know that all of the characters in this story (if you can call it that) are purely fictional (except Susie and her tube top) and any similarities are coincidence only.

Yours truly....with no discernible emotional content in this one...

Herotomost

P.S. Headed to New Orleans til' next Thursday, but will have my I pad with me so I can review your wonderful work.  But, be patient as I might have a cocktail or two while I am there.  Have a great week and Thanks!!!

Fat Catz photo credit: bitzcelt via photopin cc
Absinthe photo credit: wallyg via photopin cc
Death photo credit: °]° via photopin cc

A Toads Favo(u)rite.....Emperor of Ice Cream

Hey Toads....Herotomost fresh off a three day Ensenada cruise, a little worse for the wear but alive and intact. I have been told that it is my turn to post a favorite poem for our Toads Favo(u)rite Poem feature and as most of you know, this one is probably a little harder for me than most. I really didn't start reading anything until I was probably 14 or 15 and then it was mostly sci-fi and horror books with the occasional "Incredible Journey" or "My Side of the Mountain" thrown in.  Heck, in school I wasn't required to read any book until my Junior year (To Kill a Mockingbird), and it was the only book that I was required to read in school.  So to say the least, my exposure to poetry was  somewhat underwhelming and what poetry I did come across was many times an introduction to a book or a chapter of a book, and when put into that kind of context, some of the poems I read were fantastic and probably didn't mean at all what I thought they did. They were always hooked to feelings and emotions that I was having while reading the book. It wasn't until watching Dead Poet's Society that I picked up my first real poetry book which was Uncle Walts, Leaves of Grass and a Dylan Thomas book, which one I couldn't tell you.

I first read the poem I have chosen in Stephen Kings Salem's lot, he uses alot of quotes, poems and lyrics to introduce chapters or sections of books and I can remember this poem better than I can remember the rest of the book.  It was because of how it made me feel when I read it.  I have since looked it up, read a plethora of explanations and analyses of what it is supposed to mean and many of those ideas contradict each other heavily. So I am not going to give you my take on it, I am not going to analyze it to death, because you know by the way that I comment on all of your poems that most of the time I feel how your words punch me in the gut, or massage my shoulders, or kiss me full and wet on the mouth.  I don't care if I get the total meaning wrong, I only care that the words reminded me of something that I have experienced, and I like the feeling of a shared experince especially with someone that I have never met before.  It makes me think that the world does work the right way alot of the time and that people understand each other at the most basic of levels.

OK enough or Kerry gonna say something like...."Ackkkkk...enough with the feelings already!!!!" lol. Here it is....

The Emperor of Ice-Cream

By 

Wallace Stevens

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

In Tandem! Mexican Radio meets runaway sentence: Bonding with Muriel

(Corey and Marian went down to Boo'ya Moon and brought back this story to tell to our friends. Hope you enjoy.)
 
Bonding with Muriel

          When exactly did you lose your Soul?

Chewing the burnt end of Cherub Root waters her eyes

Sitting cross legged, knee to knee, she spoke of her legacy

You touch her breast pocket and your fingers find no purchase

She exhales and lets out a low laugh, a smile through yellowed teeth

She told you your hair was ablaze with Asher’s fire, but you knew

The Gods wouldn’t burn your memories without reason

The root plays its restless song and for the moment, you understand Muriel

Lucky for you, the gods do not approve human sacrifice

You sprawl in a bed strewn with paper dolls and daisy chains

Dreaming of salt water, wishing for that crosswalk moment

Like navigating a quicksand Moat, slow progress across

Sinking until your lungs begin to collapse and you encounter him

The glitter of his purpose an aura, redolent like a bachelor’s aftershave

An elixir, eternal youth promised, or joy, if only you can last this bog

          Why exactly did you paint your Heart?

When you ask him of her intentions he shrugs and leaves your head hollow

She picks all moments, not just the ones you ask for

And you must hope to all hell that her womb doesn’t quicken

For progeny born of a union consecrated on the root becomes his child

Beautiful in scope but hideous where justice and compassion are concerned

Have you learned nothing from your childhood tales of beasts and banalities

She is Muriel and you are a faded memory before her horse rides south

It’s hard to know what will work if we are to learn to cross this bridge

Sitting Indian-style, your earth-earring warms your celestial lobe

And you imagine all the days you have ahead together, a Kodak moment

Slide-show to come, but first, the span. You have no fucking idea

You squeeze your eyes until the red behind your lids glows fire-wise

Like the gash on your breast, the one you keep pasted with gauze, never looking

Avoiding the service, it’s better to remember his mouth on your heart

          When exactly do you expect to Return?

Mourning never ends as yesterday fades into a year later, and then masked

As night it’s the moment you always anticipated, but wait, where’s your hovercraft

And how are you supposed to acclimate when you recall what it’s like to tumble

Through the apex of a reflective Triangle on the bumper of a horse-drawn buggy

Sugarcubes wait in a saucer for your coffee as you bum a smoke from that farmer

Beard but no moustache, tall hat but bare hands chapped from shoveling

Your memories into the incinerator and man, you gotta locate an analyst pronto

“Muriel?”

“Yes, my light?”

“Is that scar on your cheek from me?”

“No, my light.”

“Can I touch it?”

“Leave it be, it exists only as a reminder of your birth.”

“Why my birth?”

“It’s not my scar, it’s a bastard. You, my light, are a bastard.”

“Yeah.”

The soil of an inherited future is hard to scrape from the sole of one’s shoe

But Muriel had a stick and could wash free any sediment with a glance and a sigh

He would try and stop her, shouting that Gods don’t pour watered down drinks

On Monday, she would kill him with his own words and take you as a prize

It was your dream but it always caught in the back of your throat with a click

Forever was as much sin as savior in those days, days with Muriel

Always with your protestations, Muriel this and Muriel that
                                                 A pipedream, all it ever was

Felix Vallotton, The Dordogne with Carrenac, 1925