Blog Fog

Every Sunday
I promise a rhyme
But what’s been happening
Much of the time

Before I know it
Sunday is here
And it’s happened again
Just as I feared

I have no topic
For this week’s blog
A poem about what?
My mind is a fog

No subject strikes me
Any theme fly away
So my lack of ideas
Is the theme for today

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Whimsical Wednesday: Hair Raising by Penny Hibshman

Whimsical Wednesday With Friends is back!

And with a splash! Penny Hibshman hits the nail on the head with her terrific ditty about a hairdo. Thanks, Penny!

Hair Raising
by Penny Hibshman

I walked into a new salon
and huddled by the door.
Heart in throat, eyes wide with fright,
I could stand my hair no more.

I edged up to the booking desk
stood rooted to the floor
“I’d like to get a little trim,
an inch, not any more.”

Mr. Michael took my hand
and led me to his chair,
The mirrored wall was to my back
He began to cut my hair

I watched him as his scissors flew
His face began to change
Eyes opened wide and slightly glazed
He looked a little strange.

I settled down and closed my eyes
the hair began to drop
I heard the scissors snip, snip, snip
I thought they’d never stop.

The chatter of the scissors paused
I thought that he was through
I raised a hand to check the length
He barked a “Please don’t move”.

I paused with hand still in mid-air
Then let it slowly fall
My friend had said, “He’s really good!”
to worry to at all.

I’ve heard that uttered many times
and lived to feel regret
A new salon is rather like
a bad game of roulette.

Suddenly the chair turned round
I had to sneak a peek.
What I saw made my jaw drop
I gave a ghastly shriek.

Like a ewe I had been shorn
my hair was such a fright.
Any soldier would be proud
I had a “high and tight”!

Women have a rule of thumb
You’ve heard it this I know.
No matter what they do to it
Your hair will always grow!

Published with Permission of the Author
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Sports Report

Some people sled
And some people ski
But anything with snow?
That’s just not for me

Some people use rackets
To hit balls and play tennis
But watch me aim a ball?
Trust me, I’m a menace

What about soccer
Or other team-like sports?
Nope, not for me, thanks
They put me out of sorts

Golf looked oh so civilized
Until I tried to play
And realized that at home
Is where I should have stayed

I like to exercise
But athletic I am not
Eye-hand coordination
Is something I don’t got

The best activity for me
Is to take a vigorous walk
At any high-falutin’ games
My skill set simply balks

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Great Blue

I think of him
As a southern bird
But up here in summer
He is not of unheard

A great blue heron
Keeps visiting the shack
At the lakefront, of course
Not the woods in the back

At dawn and at dusk
He presides at the dock
Regal and majestic
Assessing fish-stock

A symbol of self-reliance
In myth and in lore
Herons are loners
That is for sure

Which means he’s a bird
Who knows me quite well
And maybe that’s why
I’ve been under his spell

And why at my lakefront
He’s become quite a fixture
But he’s camera shy
So I don’t have a picture

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Five Spot – The Kindle Scout Campaign

I’ve entered my latest
Into something called Scout
It’s a contest for authors
Where we jump up and shout
“Choose my book, choose my book!
Please give it some clout!”
Below is the link
On my nomination route
I vow if I don’t win
I’ll try not to pout

So please give it a click
And my excerpt please read
If you nominate me
And if I succeed
You’ll get Five Spot for free
After the contest’s complete
A gift on your Kindle
Oh boy! What a treat!
But ‘til mid-September
We’re on the edge of our seat

Alas, we must wait
Until the voting is through
Only then will we have
Any hint, any clue
On Five Spot’s success
In this contest so new
Either way, I give thanks
Where they are due
I’d be nowhere at all
Without, dear reader, you!

https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/32F95ZQHQMJ52

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The Dreaded Blurb

I can write a poem
And include a rhyme
Or produce a novel
If given the time

But ask me to
Compose a blurb
Discuss my book
In a few short words

Keep it simple
And make it pithy
So potential readers
See how it’s spiffy

Oh, how I wish
The task were so easy
But this dreaded job
Makes me quite queasy

I feel like saying
Just read the book
Then I won’t have to
Write you a hook

But instead I brainstorm
Over syntax I fret
And after 200 tries
A blurb I’ll beget

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Organized, Not

There is nothing
That annoys me more
Than losing something
That I was sure

I had set aside
In a safe spot
I’ll remember that!
But then I forgot

Months or days later
I search for the thing
But my bad memory
No bells does it ring

Finally I find
Whatever was missing
But never before
Bad words I get hissing

I put it there?
Surely I jest
That’s the last place I’d look
On my stupid-thing quest!

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111 Smith Street

Sometimes it is hard to write
A poem that might be jolly
Sometimes my mood
Is a tad bit melancholy

Considering what happened
In Charleston this week
I’m feeling kind of sad
My mood is rather bleak

But at 10 a.m. the bells
Of Charleston were ringing
And George and Mosella
Were up in heaven singing

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The Manicure News Blues

My nails are seldom
A Beautiful sight
But in gardening season
They’re rather a fright

I start out in gloves
But that never works
Bare fingers prove better
To dig in the dirt

Mud-caked and chipped
And forget about polished
A week’s worth of planting
Means ten nails demolished

They get clean eventually
And grow out again
I brush on new polish
They’re okay, but then

Look! Over there
Some weeds are now growing
About that new manicure?
Guaranteed, I’ll be blowing

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A Small World

No real issues
No big deal
But what’s surprising
A tad unreal

The other driver’s
A friend of a friend
And before either car
Was put on the mend

At the same party
We found ourselves
On our small accident
We chose not to dwell

It’s a small world
As this tale does attest
So it’s always wise
To drive at your best

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