Poetry Monday :: Cookies

I feel like chasing my own tail. On my to-do list I only just made it to Poetry Monday. Tomorrow I'm going to have my gall bladder removed, so I need your prayers, good wishes or whatever positive you want to send my way, please.

The subject is Cookies. We had this very same subject back in March. I just repeat, as there's too much I have to ...

Cookies made me of course think of the edible ones  - as we eat heaps of them just now. The home made ones are the best - but also of the computer ones. Then my thoughts wandered to bread and games being replaced by cookies and reality shows. I only made a half-baked poem. But now ... well now you'll just have to read it - or not if so you choose.

-- 🦉 --

Cookies we have online
Cookies in a store
Cookies are delicious,
Dare we ask for more?

Panem et circenses *)
In the Rome of yore.
Dulling now our senses
with X Factor's score.

*) "Bread and circuses" (or bread and games; from Latin: panem et circenses) is a metonymic phrase referring to superficial appeasement. It is attributed to Juvenal, a Roman poet active in the late first and early second century BC, and is used commonly in cultural and political, contexts.

In a political context, the phrase means to generate public approval, not by excellence in public service or public policy, but by diversion, distraction, or by satisfying the most immediate or base requirements of a populace, by offering a palliative: for example food (bread) or entertainment (circuses).  (Wikipedia - Edited)

Now we're eating and accepting cookies while  watching reality-shows. As another old wise and bitter man said: "Nothing new under the sun".

-- 🦉 --

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Next Monday: Christmas/Hannukah/Holidays.

Poetry Monday :: Winter

Today's theme for Poetry Monday is Winter. Poetry Monday is a challenge, hosted by Diane at On the Border. But now only for three more Mondays.  Monday, January 1, 2024 is Diane's last time hosting Poetry Monday, as she's taking a break due to health issues. Messymimi and I have a loose plan of keeping the chair warm for her - let's see what happens.

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     Digtet her er en reprise. Jeg bragte det første gang den 18. januar 2021, og anden gang, hvor jeg sammenlignede med en tidligere dansk oversættelse til vintersolhverv sidste år, men jeg synes nu bedst om min egen oversættelse, så det er hvad jeg bringer i dag. Jeg har lige forbedret et par af linkerne - i det mindste synes jeg, at det er en forbedring.
     Vi har desværre ikke mere sne, der får træer, huse, hegn og mur til at se ud som kager med glasur. Jeg håber, det snart kommer igen, for det er meget bedre for humøret med sne til at lyse op i vintermulmet.

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This poem has been published once before  January, 18, 2021, and again at Winter solstice last year. This time with an elder, Danish translation. I am brash enough to say that I like mine the best, so that's what you'll get today - I improved two of the lines, at least I found it to be an improvement.

Unfortunately we have no more snow to make tree and house, and hill and lake, look frosted like a wedding-cake. But I hope for the snow to return, as snow to light up our murky days are way better for the soul than rain and low clouds like today.

Winter-Time   Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again.   Before the stars have left the skies, At morning in the dark I rise; And shivering in my nakedness, By the cold candle, bathe and dress.   Close by the jolly fire I sit To warm my frozen bones a bit; Or with a reindeer-sled, explore The colder countries round the door.   When to go out, my nurse doth wrap Me in my comforter and cap; The cold wind burns my face, and blows Its frosty pepper up my nose.   Black are my steps on silver sod; Thick blows my frosty breath abroad; And tree and house, and hill and lake, Are frosted like a wedding-cake.   by Robert Louis Stevenson 1913

Vinterdag   Først sent står vintersolen op, en gyldenhåret dovenkrop, der skinner et par timer kun for at forsætte så sit blund   Og førend stjernen går sin vej, før morgengryet, vågner jeg Og frysende, på bare tæer klæder jeg mig på ved lampeskær   Jeg varmer mine fingre lidt ved ilden her, som varmer hedt. Så i en rensdyrslæde går det rundt i verden udenfor.   Før jeg går ud, bli'r jeg klædt på får vanter, jakke, hue på. Og vinden svider snart min kind snor sig som rim i næsen ind   Mod sneen hvid står sorte skridt min ånde blæses hid og did. Og træer, huse, hegn og mur ser ud som kager med glasur.   Charlotte Olden-Jørgensen, 2021

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Upcoming topics:
Cookies (December 18)
Christmas/Hanukkah/Holidays (Dec. 25)
The Future (January 1 Diane's last Poetry Monday)

Words for Wednesday & IWSG December 6

This challenge started a long time ago. Now it has turned into a movable feast with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words provided by a number of people.

The general idea of this challenge is to make us write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.

 It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

-- 🧛 --

The prompts for today as for every Wednesday in December are provided by WiseWebWoman, and made public at EC's blog.

For today we had:
Oysters
Herringbone
Puffin
Needle
Broom
     and/or
Hummus
Crochet
Locket
Sprocket
Market

Back in August I had the half-baked idea that one of the poems in Olav's fake magic potion book actually did work.

We left Olav, Susan, Heidi age and Lis sitting at the beach waiting for the full moon to rise early and them to test the verse.

Let's see what happens.


The beach was strewn with shells and other remains from big and small sea creatures. And when they dug a hole to bury the remains of their egg rolls Olav was sure, he had found an oyster shell, but Susan had to tell him that oysters did not live in the waters around Unicorn Farm, and that it was probably just a very old black clam.
They also found a couple of herringbones and the deteriorating beak of a puffin, Olav knew what it was, the others suspected it to be a discarded toy made from plastic.

Then the moon rose, and as soon as it had cleared the horizon Tage intoned the verse from Olav's book:

Monster, monster from the sea
come to shore and speak to me.
Full moon waning in the gloom,
Hero rising for his doom
Suppress partner, pressure go!
Trash can ballet, warrant too.

Straight as a needle the water jets rose from the water, Susan made a start, as if to run for her broom, but Heidi caught her hand, and they remained standing on the sand, watching.

The monster surfaced. It was long and sleek, reeking of overripe hummus, its scaled flanks towered over the children, when it neared, but its voice was surprisingly gentle.
"What do you want from me, human child?"
"I would like to know the meaning and purpose of that verse," Tage said.
"The meaning is obscure, lost to the mists of time, unravelled like an old crochet blanket." The monster spoke slowly, ponderously. "The purpose of it is to summon me, but only once a century do I heed the call. Tonight was the night."
The children looked at one another and back at the monster.
The monster spoke again. "Since you all seem guileless, not intent on abusing me or your powers ..." it looked at each of them in turn, its phosphorescent eyes boring into theirs. They met its scrutinizing gaze, afraid and curious at the same time "Since it is so," the monster continued, "I'll give you this locket. It belonged to a seafarer, long lost at sea. Maybe it'll lead you to treasures and riches. Maybe it'll only tell you where he bought his sprocket at the market before he set out on his last journey. Farewell young ones."

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Today is also the first Wednesday of the month. Time for the monthly Question from the Insecure Writers' Support Group

December 6 question: Book reviews are for the readers. When you leave a book reviews do you review for the Reader or the Author? Is it about what you liked and enjoyed about your reading experience, or do you critique the author?

My answer: This is the hardest question yet! I hardly ever read a book review, and the few I have written for my blog were all written as part of some challenge and read just like some, I could have written for a school assignment long ago.

Really reviews are not my thing. I like to read the book and like it or not, independent from what others might think. Also for this reason I do not read the prologues, forewords, preambles or what ever they're called until I have read the book.

The answer is: I tell about what I liked or not about the book. If the book is filled with typos, spelling errors or inconsistencies, I tell about this too, as I think it is of importance for my reading experience.

If I ever get to publish a book, I am not going to read the reviews of it. But I like to be corrected, and have learned to say 'thank you' to anybody pointing out my mistakes.

Poetry Monday :: Shoes

Today's theme for Poetry Monday is Shoes. Poetry Monday is a challenge, hosted by Diane at On the Border. But now only four times more.  Monday, January 1, 2024 is Diane's last time hosting Poetry Monday, as she's taking a break due to health issues. Messymimi and I have a loose plan of keeping the chair warm for her - let's see what happens.

Again I tried to find a Danish song. Like my hoarse dragon, it was a song from a play or a musical. I remember a choir of small wood goblins, wood witches or cosy goblin singing a song called, Oh, my Shoes are Filled with Holes.
This time around it was all gone. What strange thing.Then I just had to improvise and this nonsense happened.


Oh, my shoes are filled with holes,
While I'm hunting with the trolls.
And I'm happy that it is not gnolls.

Oh, my shoes are filled with holes,
But I'm running with the foals -
And I'm happy that it is not moles.

Oh, my shoes are filled with holes,
But I'm skipping all the poles.
And I'm filling ice in all the bowls.

Oh, my shoes are filled with holes,
While I'm singing of the voles.
And I'm sure of reaching all my goals.

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Upcoming topics:
Winter (December 11)
Cookies (December 18)
Christmas/Hanukkah/Holidays (Dec. 25)
The Future (January 1 My last Poetry Monday)

Jessetræet

Som hvert år i adventstiden - der altså startede i går og ender juleaften - vil der på min blog Jessetræet hver dag blive udgivet en kommenteret bibellæsning og nogle ideer til aktiviteter.

Ideen med Jessetræet er at bringe forberedelsen og besindelsen tilbage til adventstiden, som er ved at drukne i jul og nisser og slik, så der næsten ikke er noget forventning tilbage til selve juleaften.

Det kan være, Uglemor her kæmper med vindmøller, men vi fejrer og fester så meget i hele december, at når det endelig er blevet jul, har vi så travlt med at få pakket jul, juletræer og det hele ned, at der stort set ikke er en grannål tilbage, når man vover sig i byen 2. juledag.



Vores eget adventsvindue viser for en gangs skyld en herligt hvidklædt verden udenfor.