injaynesworld "Getting High On Poetry..."

So completely have I been selfishly focused on the celebration of my birthday this month, one would think April was invented just for me.  Not only did “National Weed Day” pass me by without so much as a whiff, it’s almost the end of the month and I’m just now learning that April is “National Poetry Month.”

Who makes this stuff up?

I’m particularly embarrassed about my ignorance of the celebration of poetry, especially since I’m currently enrolled in an online poetry class.  You’d think someone would have given me a heads up.

While I can’t offer you any plant matter to toke upon, I do have a tiny poem to share.  Well, actually, it’s just a snippet that aspires to be a poem.  This is in response to the Studio 30+ prompt “arcane or mysterious.” I call it “No Name Poem,” partly because such a title is mysterious, and partly because I have no name for it. 

The tapping of a cane

Against worn wooden planks

Echoing off walls filled with faces

Forever to remain unknown

Yeah, I know.  Some righteous weed would have been better.  

Happy Poetry Month.  

injaynesworld it's "The Hunt..."

Blasts from the high-powered rifles shattered the quiet, sending the herd trumpeting from the watering hole, their gigantic feet quaking the ground beneath them; mothers, calves and great bulls all fleeing for their lives. 

The men panicked as the barrage of metal ripped through six of their own, sending their bodies snapping wildly in the air, before falling bloodied to the jungle’s dirt floor. 

Bold and arrogant, they had been easier prey than that which they had preyed upon.  

Leaving their dead comrades behind, they ran toward the trio of Jeeps, firing their weapons aimlessly in an effort to ward off their unseen attackers and prevent their own impending slaughter. 

What was left of their carcasses after the lions and vultures had had their fill would be found next to signs written in blood:  POACHER.

From the Five Sentence Fiction prompt “hunt.”

injaynesworld "Only 20 More Shopping Days..."

Unlike so many who regard birthdays as the poopy diaper of celebrations, I still embrace my special day with all the joy and anticipation of a child.  There is absolutely no excuse for anyone who knows me to forget my birthday.  It’s April 21^st and I started sending reminders out today. 

My earliest birthday memory is the Mickey Mouse Club theme party I had when I was six.  I got to be Annette, of course.  A dozen kids gathered around three card tables pushed together and covered with a paper tablecloth picturing Mickey and all his friends.  Matching napkins and paper plates completed the décor, with a few balloons thrown in.  

Back then you could throw a kid’s birthday party without depleting their college fund.  Pin-the-tail-on the donkey, cake and ice cream, and we were happy.  Best of all were the presents.  There was loot to be had that day and some of us were known to invite kids we didn’t even like.

These days I have to admit I’m hard to buy for.  I’ve already gone through my stuff-accumulating years, gotten rid of most of that stuff, and downsized to a tiny cottage where there’s no place to put any more stuff.   To make it even more difficult, I’ve reached a very blessed place in my life where I actually want for nothing.

This year friends are taking me out to lunch, other friends for drinks, and another will be popping for dinner.  When it comes to people who love me, I won the freakin’ lottery.  You’d think that would be enough.  It’s certainly more than a great many others ever receive.  And yet, I’m embarrassed to admit, the child in me still wants to unwrap a present.

On the other hand, at my age there’s a fine line between childish thinking and dementia.