I Have No Excuse #3

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Snark Bombs, Away!” Try your hand at parody or satire —


.boys fight

Snide, Snarky and Sarcastic

Boorish braggarts bombastic

Spar for best zingers

Stingiest stingers

Push phrases periphrastic


*periphrastic  Google it — I had to. 🙂





who would suppose
that an old garden hose
an exemplar could be
for the yin/yang of “we”

female parts, one end
male parts, the other

play together as one
to get the job done 


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Yin to My Yang.”


Their Sacred Hour

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “No Cliffhangers.”  Write a post about the topic of your choice, but make sure to end it with “…and all was well with the world.”


each day, he came home from work

spent his one hour lunch with his son

each day, they nourished each other

feeding body, mind, heart and soul

each day, they were teachers for each other

they showed each other what love is

by being that love

it was simple,


each day, during their sacred hour

as daddy sang lullabies and read books

 the power of love bloomed in their hearts

and all was well

with the



Que Sera Sera – Not Really

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Que Sera Sera” Do you believe in fate or do you believe you can control your own destiny?


accepting your fate or
controlling your


is not an either/or

it’s a continuum
with free-will
front and

as the final arbiter
of every choice
you make

taking responsibility
for those choices




Red Pill, Blue Pill – I Prefer Masticating

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Red Pill, Blue Pill.” If you could get all the nutrition you needed in a day with a pill — no worrying about what to eat, no food preparation — would you do it?


life without mastication

defies contemplation

munching, crunching, 

chewing, chomping

bite, grind

nibble or gnaw

stimulate the juices

work that jaw

smell it, taste it

feel the texture 

pleasure growing

measure for measure


here it comes 

the ultimate prize

that sublimely



or     take     a     pill


Nothin’ But A Good Time ~ ANTICIPATION

Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Nothin’ But A Good Time.”  You get the day all to yourself, to do anything you please. What types of fun activities would make your day?

send wake-up note
with one yellow rose
get full deluxe spa treatment

send after-lunch note
with one orange rose
take dreamy nap

send before-dinner note
with one deep red rose
have FUN getting ready


wine, dine, candle light

in each other we delight

joyous love tonight




Sweeping Motions – You Asked, I Delivered

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt:“Sweeping Motions.” What’s messier right now? Tell us how and why it got to that state.


Her computer’s desktop:

perfectly spaced icons all in a row

folders filled with cluttered files

of what, she does not know

so, how and why

did it get to this state?

something to do with mama

and potty training trauma

with white diapers, perfectly clean

and mommy being awfully mean

when they overflowed with

a big bad smelly mess

childhood distress

anger repressed

so now she defies 

that maternal image

with perfect folders on the

outside and dirty, dirty, dirty

on the inside

and …

oh, dear … please excuse me

Doctor Freud has arrived 

for my daily couch


ta-ta for now .  .  .




Delayed Contact – A Perplexing Prospect

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Delayed Contact.” How would you get along with your sibling you’ve known for a long time — if you only met them for the first time today?


if I met my sister for the first time today

with whom I share the same DNA

              I’d feel our connection

from another direction

when we’d both laugh

at what the other

might say 


she’ll be someone I would choose for a friend

our differences we’ll gladly transcend

out of respect for the other    

and to honor our mother

nonstop humor will

help us mend



From Me to Me – My Realest Post Yet

Daily Post’s writing prompt: “From You to You.” Write a letter to your 14-year-old self.


My dear sweet 14-year-old self,

You are precious. I know you don’t know this or feel it in your heart, but it is the truth. In fact, you don’t even understand what this means. Please know that your parents love you in the only way they know, which means little physical contact and only rare compliments, lest you develop a “swelled head.”

What you are going through right now, no one should have to go through, least of all a fourteen year old girl who has just started to blossom. I see how you’ve withdrawn into that walking body cast that you must wear until your spine gets fixed, and no one knows how long that will be. Could be months or years.

All you know is that one day everything was great, you were finally a teenager and the boys were all looking cute, and the next day it all stopped. And now everything feels bad, or worse than bad. 

I want you to know that I see how awkward and freakish you feel.  You can’t wear “regular” clothes or participate in most school activities. You always feel embarrassed about how you look.  And you are profoundly sad and lonely, neither of which are being addressed by anyone, including you.

I say all this, not to make you feel sorry for yourself, although some of that is perfectly normal. I simply want to validate your reality and speak it out loud.

If I could, I would give you the biggest, warmest hug all the way around that stupid old cast. I would look into your eyes and tell you what a magnificent human being you are, as well as an adorably cute and feisty young lady! 

I would drag you out to see a movie and get root beer floats at Merkle’s drug store and go watch the ducks in the pond at central park.

Most of all, my kind and brilliant 14-year-old self, I would make you laugh again, as much for me to hear it, as for you to feel it.


Lucky Star – Where’s My Blavatar?

The Daily Post’s writing prompt:“Lucky Star.”Today is your lucky day. You get three wishes, granted to you by The Daily Post. What are your three wishes and why?


I want my Blavatar back! It’s been missing from the Reader since the change to the new-fangled design.  Let me rephrase this: I NEED my Blavatar. This is an Identity Crisis situation here with the question being: who am I, without my Blavatar? Well, I’ll tell you what I look like. A pallid, barely visible, semblance of a little square that bloggers scroll right by because I now blend into the background, totally unnoticed. And if there’s anything I don’t do well, it’s blend in … especially to a background. As far as not being noticed, well, just look at my Blavatar … 

Look, I have been a good girl and followed all the proper steps to reinstate my Blavatar to the level of visibility that it deserves, and that I NEED, without success. If you will grant this ONE wish, it will be worth a thousand to me and I need no other. What do you say, Daily Post? Are ya’ up for it?


Finite Creature Fantasy (with a smidgen of eros)

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Finite Creatures.”

wake up

At what age did you realize you were not immortal?

Let’s see, I think it was sometime in August of whatever year my baby sister was born, because she was born on July 27th and she was about three weeks old when she told me all about how everything works and what’s going to happen and how I shouldn’t worry about any of it because none of it hurts and there’s lotsa kids to play with and Grandma Gloria is there and you can see everything that’s happening with mortals but you can’t really do anything about it because mortals have to learn their own lessons by going through them …  but there was one important thing she wanted to tell me about because it’s something I could look forward to when I don’t have a body anymore and I’m gonna find out anyway, so . . .  she said you know how when a man and lady love each other and pleasure themselves together with their mortal bodies and try to get as close to each other and inside each other as much as they can, well … when you don’t have a body anymore, your spiritual selves do it by merging with each other … they go right inside each other and it’s a thousand times more pleasing than trying to do it with mortal bodies, she hadn’t tried it but she said she was going to … so I gotta stop now – I’m hungry and I need a cuddle . . .  

The question was, at what age did you realize you were not immortal?

Oh, sorry … I really don’t remember . . .

Hard Deadlines and All-Nighters

The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Heat is On” Does your best stuff surface as the deadline approaches? Sometimes.

GG 4 DSC_0020

In Nursing College, when I was finishing up my Psychiatry Rotation, the final assignment was to create an all-inclusive Nursing Care Plan for a hypothetical patient with a two week hospital stay. That’s 14 days of detailed hour by hour documentation.

I had a few basic ideas afloat in my consciousness when I sat down at my desk around 11 pm. The project was due the next morning. I won’t pretend that this was an easy task and I whipped right through it. It was not and I did not. I worked diligently for four to five hours, snuck in a couple of hours sleep, then did a one hour final edit for typos, errors and last minute changes in the morning. I was happy with it. Not thrilled, but happy. I would get a decent grade. Whew!

I scored an A+. What? Yes, I was delighted with the grade, considering the amount of time I spent. But an A+? Maybe the professor was a little too “relaxed” when she did the scoring. Maybe it was sheer luck. Divine intervention. Did I get away with something?

A few days later, that question was answered by the professor herself when she called me into her office. She had met with the Hospital’s Nursing Care Plan Committee, comprised of the Director of Nurses, College Nursing Professors and others. Unbeknownst to me, my nursing care plan was presented to the committee.

She wanted to tell me that it was chosen by the committee as the college’s exemplar of Student Nursing Care Plans, to be presented at a conference in San Francisco the following month. If this was okay with me, would I please sign the permission form. I did.

There it was. My first brush with an all-nighter to meet a hard deadline. It turned out quite well. I never told my fellow student nurses about the “exemplar” designation. No need. And I disciplined myself to spend very little time in the valley of guilt for scoring such an “Easy A”.


Futures Past – Finding My Way Back To Me

Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Futures Past.” As a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up? How close or far are you from that vision?


perpetual is the road
and this is fine, you see
discovering the posted signs
that lead right back to me

I have helpers along the way
most often in disguise
for I would surely run away

if I did recognize
those hidden parts of me
I’m still afraid to be

my  heart is strong and willing
but stubborn treads my mind
just when I think I’m whole enough 

another facet do I find

this journey will not end
until the fated line goes flat
and even then I just might stall
But, wait! I haven’t done that . . .



Dressing on the Side? / Top or Bottom?

Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Groupthink.Write a post that includes dialogue between two people — other than you. 


If that’s the way you want it,

then that’s the way you’ll get it.


I said, if that’s the way you want it,

then that’s the way you’ll get it.

Well, I don’t even want it,

so I’m not getting anything.

But you said you wanted it that way.

Which way?

The way you said you wanted it, Babe.

But I don’t want it.

Oh, yes you do.

I do?

Oh, yeah . . . definitely.

I really want it?


And I want it that way?

Absolutely, Babe.

Well, why didn’t you just say so in the first place?

Because that’s the way you wanted it.

Oh . . .


The Empress With Two Facets – Has She Been Dethroned Yet?

The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Festivus for the Rest of Us.”  You have been named supreme ruler of the universe. Your first order of business is creating and instituting a holiday or festival in your honor.


At the risk of being
stoned or disowned
or thrown
from my 

or knocked off
my blog post
which would
hurt me the

As supreme ruler of the universe
and the Empress
With Two Facets
I must speak my truth
and it is thus:

“If I were the [queen] of the world
Tell you what I’d do
I’d throw away the cars and the bars and the wars
And make sweet love to you”
Joy to the world
All the boys and girls now
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me” *

Welcome to our first annual
onoring the human need for love and touch.

Only two rules of participation:

1. Sometime during the holiday, you must touch
at least one person with the spirit of love,
skin to skin. This can 
be as small as
touching fingertips … or more.

2. Only do to others as you would have them do to you.
(masochists please check with my staff for
further instructions)


(*Lyrics: Hoyt Axton  *Vocals: Three Dog Night)

A Quickie Romp Through the Land of SAD

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Turn, Turn, Turn.”Seasons change so quickly! Which one do you most look forward to? Which is your least favorite?

Have you ever been depressed?

Have you ever felt like
an unwelcome guest

in your own body,
with a permanent case
of jet lag?

If not,
please don’t judge
those of us
whose neurotransmitters
are challenged,
whose brain chemistry
is misaligned
like the weights on an old scale
gone amok, out of balance
with Serotonin and Melatonin
all confused
about their relationship
with each other,
who is supposed to do what
and when and for how long

Welcome to:
SAD Pic 2

When the sun and the light  give way to black afternoons
and your body refuses to surrender to activity,

able to remain horizontal for 20 hours a day
fatigued, morose, bellicose, confused,
refusing to move

even though your mind
wishes loudly and silently

to get on with it.

Give in or fight?
Accept or reject?
But don’t expect

empathy or
from those
whose brain
receptor sites
are all nice and normal

have always been normal
will always be normal.

Have mercy on them.
It’s not their fault.

At least they’re
not part of
“just get over it”
Pansy 2

the Rx remedy
for S.A.D.
comes with an
side effect:
Orgasmic Inhibition

As someone once said,
“You’re happy,
but you may not
a happy ending.”
Oh, oh, oh the irony
spews itself
across the room.

That most people
with SAD
choose to endure
the confiscation
of a rightful bodily
rather than the
of SAD,
speaks for itself …
don’t you think?

Turn, Turn, Turn

Do We Have a Crisis or Not?

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In a Crisis.”

teenage_angerThis is a dialogue story that takes place at the walk-up window of a pharmacy. It depicts a conversation between a sweet middle-aged Pharmacy Tech and a frazzled teenage girl. Inspired by real events.

How may I help you today?

I need a Plan B! (catching her breath)

Sorry, what did you say?

I said, I need a Plan B. 

Aha, you would be referring to the morning-after pill, otherwise known as emergency contraception?

YES, that’s it! That’s exactly what I need. Do you have any?

I believe we do have some in stock, yes. Did you want to make a purchase now?


Alright. First, I need you to sit down on this chair, take a deep breath and sit quietly for a minute while I ask you a couple of simple questions, okay? 

Yeah, I guess.

So, you’re wanting the Plan B because you’ve had unprotected sex … is that correct?

Well … that depends on, like … what you mean by “unprotected.”

Let’s start with this … did you use a condom?

Yes! Oh, YES!

Okay, did you use it properly? You know, according to the directions and all?


So … you were protected, then.

No, not really … it turns out there was this teeny-weeny tear in the condom. I mean, it was a brand new condom, but …

I understand. So, we have to assume you were not protected. Let’s just go on to the next question. Now, how long ago did you have this unprotected sex?

Ah … about 10 minutes ago.

10 minutes ago?

Yeah … well, I guess maybe it’s more like 15 or 20 minutes by now. I only live a few blocks away and I just ran over here.

Might I ask … where is the gentleman?

You mean my boyfriend? Oh…he had to go back to work.

Oh, my dear sweet young lady … you must learn something right here and right now. YOU deserve more than that.


Listen to my words … you should never, ever settle for less than at least 15 minutes of cuddling and pillow talk after having sex. 

Yeah … I guess. Now can I please BUY the plan B?

Hold on, we’re almost there. Now, how old are you.

Um … how old do I have to be?

17 … with proof.

I’m 17, but I don’t have proof.

No driver’s license?

Nope …

Well, without proof of age, you’re going to need a doctor’s prescription to purchase a Plan B. So, I suggest you contact your GYN doctor to get a prescription.

I’ve never even been to a GYN doctor!  Oooh … this is getting worse and worse… how am I ever gonna get the Plan B!? My parents will be soooo pissed if they find out about any of this! The tears begin to flow . . .

Alright, alright. Now, take another deep breath and listen closely again. First of all, you have time … up to 72 hours after having unprotected sex, to prevent a pregnancy, okay? Of course, the sooner the better. So you’re okay for right now. I only have one more question. Do you live with your parents and are they home right now?

YES, I live with my parents and NO they are not home right now! Why do you think my boyfriend came over on his lunch break?

Of course. This evening, you’re going to talk to your parents, one or the other, or both, about your situation. If you can’t do that, there is a Planned Parenthood at 550 Main Street … go there tomorrow morning and they will help you. Okay? Now I want you to walk, not run, home. Will you do that?

Okay… I guess. Thanks … I guess … bye.

… and don’t forget … 15 minutes, at least! Always!

Yeah, yeah. ~

In a Crisis

Her Whole Life On Page Three

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Early Years.” Write page three of your autobiography.
She just wasn’t
quite right.

She didn’t know
or what it was

She didn’t know
she went 
even if she did

go wrong.

She just knew

   quite right.

And if
not quite right
you must
quite wrong.







The Early Years

On the Edge (Not All Keels Are Equal)

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “On the Edge.” We all have things we need to do to keep an even keel  — blogging, exercising, reading, cooking. What’s yours?  

~even keel


Stop breathing?

I’m there.

Calm, logical.

Fully present.

I. Will.

Save. You.



Spill the milk?

I’m eyeing the edge.

Spill it again?

I’m on the ledge

of the edge.

Don’t clean it up?

Bye, bye . . .


On the Edge