Poetry Monday is a
blogging challenge started by Diane @ On the Border in February 2017; later it was picked up by Delores @ Mumblings and Jenny @
Procrastinating Donkey.
Then Dolores took over the hosting duties; but
when Dolores left the internet, Diane returned and took over hosting
duty again with her and Jenny taking turns suggesting a topic.
Now Mimi @ Messymimi's Meanderings
and I have taken over, as Diane seems disinclined to take up Poetry Monday again.
The prompts are now taken from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts
group. This is a Facebook group with a (drawing) prompt for each day of the
year, but no
worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog. And they mostly lend themselves perfectly for poeming as well.
I
have something to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of
others via the links, would you please leave a comment.
Half - if not more - the fun
of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
Today the prompt is Beach huts which fast turned into Little beach huts, and then this happened. We do have beach huts in Denmark as well, and like almost everything here they are strictly regulated. No enlargements, no additions, no electricity, and no running water. I never really got the point in having a beach hut. After reading more about it, I still do not get it.
Beach huts
Little beach huts by the seaside,
little beach huts made of wood and timber
little beach huts by the seaside,
little beach huts colourful.
There's a blue one, and a green one
and a striped one and a yellow one,
Painted houses made of timber
and they seldom look the same.
But the people in the beach huts
they go bathing just like you and me
All the people in the beach huts
little people, all the same.
There's a tall one, and a short one,
and a thin one and a flabby one.
Little people in the beach huts,
little people, all the same.
Why do people have a beach hut
not a towel just like you and me.
Are the worried we'll see them
we are people - all the same.
There's a short one, and a tall one
And a fat one and a skinny one.
Little beach huts by the seaside
Little people, all the same!
- - - - - Coming Prompts - - - - -
September 21 Solstice - Should it be Equinox, I wonder.
September 28 Bonfire
October 5 Rocket
October 12 Contents of the safe
October 19 X-ray vision
October 26 Clam
November 2 Big Birds
November 9 Planes
Dear readers and co-bloggers.
Once again we're waiting for the blogrolls to update. If you think I'm slow in commenting this might be why.
mandag den 14. september 2026
søndag den 13. september 2026
Uniqueness ~ ~ Autumn-Blog-Cleaning
I've begun sorting through my unpublished blog posts. Some will be posted as is, some will be finished and published, most will be deleted. As I have more that 100 drafts expect lots of crazy, dizzy, angry, happy and hopefully funny posts to pop up over the coming weeks.
My first Autumn Blog Cleaning post
If you're a Jew and I do not like you, I might not be an anti-Semitic nincompoop. If you're a woman and I do not like you, I'm probably not sexist. Because maybe it's not your sex or religion what's putting me off.
Maybe what I do not like about you is your political point of view, maybe your ideas about people on the dole, maybe your aggressive veganism, your view on public transportation, covid19, or a zillion other matters?
I never understood the former way of thinking. If it really is only this one thing that's defining you and who you are, I truly feel sorry for you, because we all are so much more ...
Some of our characteristics are immutable, genetic. For example: eye colour, height, skin pigmentation (the colour may change when exposed to the Sun), the ability to roll your tongue, biological gender, the ability to taste phenylthiocarbamide (FTC), etc. ect.
Others are changeable: the ability to speak Esperanto, a fondness for Brussels sprouts, wanting to have sex with men, being able to stand on one's head, knowing how to swim, having a certain job and many others.
The failure of most ideologies is that they put a magnifying glass on one of these characteristics - be it genetic or changeable - and say this it is what defines me, what I am. But I do NOT want to be defined by this one facet of me. It is not the only one that makes me who I am.
Once, many years ago I was at a "museum" where we were asked to answer 8 simple questions, each asked by a computer, tied to a worktable, where aids to answer the questions were given. I only remember some of the questions. These were:
How come some people think that gender, or religion, or skin colour, or intelligence, or eating preferences, or whatever, is the only determining factor?
lørdag den 12. september 2026
June, the Solitary Hero ~ 4
I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 2
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 3
Still I haven't used any of the words ;) Later, perhaps.
Next day was Monday and June took a bus to the bigger town. She arranged bills with the bank, the water company, and the electricity company. She liked to do so in person, things usually went smoother that way, also this time. She visited the lawyer's office, handing over the envelope to the secretary, and had a new one. Then she went shopping. Her shopping list was short, but had her visiting a book-store, a hardware store, a bakery, and finally the supermarkets. She went home laden with parcels and bags.
That night June dreamt, almost a nightmare. She forgot it as soon as she woke up, but to prevent it from resuming, she went to the window and looked out over the sea. The moon had set, but the stars still shone, some of them very brightly. And some of them seemed very close to the horizon. Then one of the stars near the horizon began moving. June wondered, then chided herself. "It's a ship, girl. Possibly far at sea, so that you can see only the top lantern." As to prove her right the "star" rose a bit and a small green light became visible. "Now look, it is a ship, probably on its way to the harbour just up the coast." But then a long series of tiny flashes could be seen from the ship. "What now. Trouble?" June was wide awake now. She looked at her watch, Quarter to three, in the middle of the night. The tiny flashes paused, as if waiting for an answer, then resumed. June guessed at some sort of code. The flashes stopped again, and June padded to the bathroom, where the window looked out over the woods. And she saw the answering flashes. Close by, in the woods, and clear. She swore softly. She had not yet installed her usual bathroom paper and pencil, even though she had bought the pencils and a notebook at the book-store. She placed two old candlesticks so that the flashes were framed by them. Then she went back to the bedroom.
But the ship was now heading for the harbour, and soon its top light was once again invisible. She stayed for a bit at the window. More lanterns became visible and disappeared on their way to the harbour. No wonder. It was a busy place, and many fishers still sailed the seas, fishing in the night. June crept back into bed. As sleep once again claimed her, she realised that the code had probably been Morse, plain and simple. She had known Morse long ago. Time for a brush up.
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 2
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 3
Still I haven't used any of the words ;) Later, perhaps.
Next day was Monday and June took a bus to the bigger town. She arranged bills with the bank, the water company, and the electricity company. She liked to do so in person, things usually went smoother that way, also this time. She visited the lawyer's office, handing over the envelope to the secretary, and had a new one. Then she went shopping. Her shopping list was short, but had her visiting a book-store, a hardware store, a bakery, and finally the supermarkets. She went home laden with parcels and bags.
That night June dreamt, almost a nightmare. She forgot it as soon as she woke up, but to prevent it from resuming, she went to the window and looked out over the sea. The moon had set, but the stars still shone, some of them very brightly. And some of them seemed very close to the horizon. Then one of the stars near the horizon began moving. June wondered, then chided herself. "It's a ship, girl. Possibly far at sea, so that you can see only the top lantern." As to prove her right the "star" rose a bit and a small green light became visible. "Now look, it is a ship, probably on its way to the harbour just up the coast." But then a long series of tiny flashes could be seen from the ship. "What now. Trouble?" June was wide awake now. She looked at her watch, Quarter to three, in the middle of the night. The tiny flashes paused, as if waiting for an answer, then resumed. June guessed at some sort of code. The flashes stopped again, and June padded to the bathroom, where the window looked out over the woods. And she saw the answering flashes. Close by, in the woods, and clear. She swore softly. She had not yet installed her usual bathroom paper and pencil, even though she had bought the pencils and a notebook at the book-store. She placed two old candlesticks so that the flashes were framed by them. Then she went back to the bedroom.
But the ship was now heading for the harbour, and soon its top light was once again invisible. She stayed for a bit at the window. More lanterns became visible and disappeared on their way to the harbour. No wonder. It was a busy place, and many fishers still sailed the seas, fishing in the night. June crept back into bed. As sleep once again claimed her, she realised that the code had probably been Morse, plain and simple. She had known Morse long ago. Time for a brush up.
... to be continued
fredag den 11. september 2026
BLOGGER for &%¤#"!!s sake!!
My blogroll has not updated for three days now.
Sorry everybody, I'll try and visit, but visiting is a bit of a bother when I can't see if there's anything new anywhere!
Sorry everybody, I'll try and visit, but visiting is a bit of a bother when I can't see if there's anything new anywhere!
Words for Wednesday September 9 (2) ::
June, the Solitary Hero ~ 3
I have written an inordinate amount of story - still not using anything but: My house has many rooms, some are less immaculate than others.
I had to continue the story about June, my solitary hero. I do not know yet if anything will ever come off it, but it's fun trying to write about a hero relying only on her own powers. I never did that before, there's always been friends, family an allies for even my most "alone" heroes. I have to continually stop myself from letting her befriend somebody, find an unexpected ally and so on ... I suppose this exercise will do me good, but will it make for a good story? Only time will tell.
I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 2
The next few days June was an explorer in her new house and its surroundings. The largest part of the gardens stretched away from the house towards the woods, and every day she discovered new plants, shrubs or berries. It had been well kept but was now a half jungle. Somebody had mowed the tiny lawns here and on the beach side of the house, and cut the hedges, but everything else was growing how and where it liked. June thought she would like to see the garden during all seasons before she really began doing anything, but the blackberries were taking over the path to the woods, they had to be kept at bay. In the shed she found a delicious pair of goatskin gauntlets, white and supple from wear. They were a tad too big for her tiny hands. "Charles must have been a very small man," she thought to herself. "My hands are not big, heck I'm not big, and I mostly fit what I find in this house." Thinking this, her eyes fell on the pruning shears. Just the ones she would have bought for herself, and the adjustable handles were set to fit her grip.
She attacked the brambles, and after a long morning the way into the woods was once more clear. The afternoon saw her cutting up the vines and making a small compost heap in a remote corner. As far as she could see, nothing grew there. She added all the dead houseplants and the muck from the gutters. Before sunset she had time for a small walk in the woods, and there she found mushrooms and wild blackberries and an old tree with bees living in it. She picked a few of the mushrooms, tasted the blackberries and let the bees alone. Dinner with mushrooms and herbs from the garden was delicious.
Next day it rained, and June lit the lights, repaired the one lamp that did not work, and cleaned the upstairs living room. All the papers in the big cupboard were spread on the table, and she sat to work sorting them. She decided to save a few of the photos and papers belonging to Charles O'Connor. She had a vague idea of making a memorial scrap book or something. After all she could thank him -- and his wife too, June learned from the photos -- for this wonderful house. None of them had been big, the wife even positively tiny. This had to be the explanation for the gloves fitting her, and the shears and several other things. She found no photos of children or any other relatives. A few photos from outings with old classmates and co-workers, Charles's wife had been a nurse, she saw. And here, four years ago, she found photos of Charles at her burial. Well, one mystery solved. A small box of photos, letters, and documents went on the top shelf of the newly cleaned cupboard, the rest she brutally stuffed into a plastic bag and carried out into the shed. Then she removed the carpets, vacuumed and washed the floor, the small tables, the small lamps, the plant-stands and windowsills.
She washed the living room floors twice more the following day. Finally they were clean. The big cupboard was too big for her to move, but all other furniture was moved out of the way and back again. In the afternoon she rearranged the things to her satisfaction. The big table was placed under a window, and stuffed chairs and Moroccan pouffes were placed in a cosy group almost opposite the door.
Downstairs was easier. She had already tackled the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen surfaces.
I had to continue the story about June, my solitary hero. I do not know yet if anything will ever come off it, but it's fun trying to write about a hero relying only on her own powers. I never did that before, there's always been friends, family an allies for even my most "alone" heroes. I have to continually stop myself from letting her befriend somebody, find an unexpected ally and so on ... I suppose this exercise will do me good, but will it make for a good story? Only time will tell.
I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 2
The next few days June was an explorer in her new house and its surroundings. The largest part of the gardens stretched away from the house towards the woods, and every day she discovered new plants, shrubs or berries. It had been well kept but was now a half jungle. Somebody had mowed the tiny lawns here and on the beach side of the house, and cut the hedges, but everything else was growing how and where it liked. June thought she would like to see the garden during all seasons before she really began doing anything, but the blackberries were taking over the path to the woods, they had to be kept at bay. In the shed she found a delicious pair of goatskin gauntlets, white and supple from wear. They were a tad too big for her tiny hands. "Charles must have been a very small man," she thought to herself. "My hands are not big, heck I'm not big, and I mostly fit what I find in this house." Thinking this, her eyes fell on the pruning shears. Just the ones she would have bought for herself, and the adjustable handles were set to fit her grip.
She attacked the brambles, and after a long morning the way into the woods was once more clear. The afternoon saw her cutting up the vines and making a small compost heap in a remote corner. As far as she could see, nothing grew there. She added all the dead houseplants and the muck from the gutters. Before sunset she had time for a small walk in the woods, and there she found mushrooms and wild blackberries and an old tree with bees living in it. She picked a few of the mushrooms, tasted the blackberries and let the bees alone. Dinner with mushrooms and herbs from the garden was delicious.
Next day it rained, and June lit the lights, repaired the one lamp that did not work, and cleaned the upstairs living room. All the papers in the big cupboard were spread on the table, and she sat to work sorting them. She decided to save a few of the photos and papers belonging to Charles O'Connor. She had a vague idea of making a memorial scrap book or something. After all she could thank him -- and his wife too, June learned from the photos -- for this wonderful house. None of them had been big, the wife even positively tiny. This had to be the explanation for the gloves fitting her, and the shears and several other things. She found no photos of children or any other relatives. A few photos from outings with old classmates and co-workers, Charles's wife had been a nurse, she saw. And here, four years ago, she found photos of Charles at her burial. Well, one mystery solved. A small box of photos, letters, and documents went on the top shelf of the newly cleaned cupboard, the rest she brutally stuffed into a plastic bag and carried out into the shed. Then she removed the carpets, vacuumed and washed the floor, the small tables, the small lamps, the plant-stands and windowsills.
She washed the living room floors twice more the following day. Finally they were clean. The big cupboard was too big for her to move, but all other furniture was moved out of the way and back again. In the afternoon she rearranged the things to her satisfaction. The big table was placed under a window, and stuffed chairs and Moroccan pouffes were placed in a cosy group almost opposite the door.
Downstairs was easier. She had already tackled the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen surfaces.
... to be continued
I still have all the words left over:
Klutz
Cream cheese
Twilight/gloaming
Buzzing
Trouble
Dominoes
And this is where I most of all miss Elephant's Child. Her enthusiasm and impatience for the next bit often spurred me on when nothing else could.
Klutz
Cream cheese
Twilight/gloaming
Buzzing
Trouble
Dominoes
And this is where I most of all miss Elephant's Child. Her enthusiasm and impatience for the next bit often spurred me on when nothing else could.
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