The Perils of a New Grocery Store

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Stacy liked to fantasize. As she pushed her shopping cart along the grocery store relieved that this aisle didn’t have any bustling shoppers, she let her imagination fly. Instead of scanning the nearly empty shelves, she was a bat, soaring through the sky under the moon. Life would be simpler as a bat she thought as she squinted at the expiration date on the Kine Juice - New with Italian Herbs! it was seven months expired and she gagged slightly while putting the can back on the shelf. Bats snapped insects from the sky without worrying about upset stomachs. Four expired cartons later - and a particularly nasty one that had leaked - she finally settled on three cartons of Chicken Humors - Chortles for the Heart. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes at the marketing gimmick and made a mental note to ask Lewis if he was sure this store was the only sanguine extract carrier in the area. If it was, it looked like she was going to have to order off Amazon and dish out the insane shipping prices. Bats never worried about shipping.

 
She turned her cart back towards the entrance and grimaced. The stares and whispers and hurried scattering was the worst part of any shopping trip. Nobody liked bats either, but a bat wouldn’t know that everyone hated them simply for existing. Being a vampire, well, she was all too aware of the fear she inspired even though most of the things people believed about vampires weren’t even true. Exiting the Larder for Lorefolk aisle, she tried to ignore the elf mother that promptly shepherded her children down the Meats, Mussels, & Marrow aisle, despite the fact that elves couldn’t digest meat. Stacy gritted her teeth and kept going. Who in their right mind - vampire or not - would bother attacking someone in a grocery store with plenty of witnesses and security cameras?

The human cashier stiffened when she rolled into his lane and kept casting furtive looks at her. Probably thought she could smell fear. She couldn’t, but she didn’t need to; his body language said it all. She could smell that he was anemic, but no one ever wanted to hear that from a vampire, so much so that most states had a law prohibiting vampires from discussing medical information with anyone without a medical license and signed consent from the patient. This suited Stacy just fine. She preferred keeping conversations with strangers to a minimum. Bats she was sure, never had to navigate awkward social niceties. It was a relief to step outside the grocery store at last and take her cartons of chicken blood to the car. At least in her second-hand sedan she was just another driver, not a legendary monster. 

***

Not really sure where Stacy is or why she’s there, but I had fun making up a vampire shopping trip. I figured that a vampire blood supplier would want to use less obvious terms other than blood to describe their products, hence the “Kine Juice” and “Chicken Humors,” and calling blood “sanguine extract” for general use. “Kine” is a biblical word for cattle, and “humors” is referring to the four humors in medieval medicine, which included blood. “Sanguine” is a blood red color.  I had a lot of fun with the products and aisle names, and maybe someday I’ll get around to actually creating a story for Stacy to inhabit.

Time Flies

Photo by Alex Guillaume on Unsplash

“But I don’t wanna!” wailed 2020, dragging his feet.

The instructor sighed, “You have wings for a reason. It’s time to learn to use them.”

2020 flopped onto the ground (or what passed for ground in the realm of non-reality), folded his arms and stuck out his tongue, “You can’t make me. I’m staying right here.”

The instructor looked at his clipboard, looked up into the indefinite color of what could be considered sky (or a roof, or more ground), counted to ten, took a deep breath and then made a decision.

In an instant, the non-landscape changed and they were no longer standing on firm ground. Well, the instructor was standing on something, but 2020 was falling; falling fast through the nothingness of time and space.

“Flap!” yelled the instructor. “Rise above!”

Instead, all the instructor heard were screams. The instructor shook his head and sighed again, “He’ll figure it out.”

Crochet Defined

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Crochet
Noun
1. Buffet of choices: so many hooks; so much yarn.
2. Voices speaking from the thread. Memories caught everywhere you look.
    Seeking tales from the bedspread, the mittens, the tangled knots.
Verb
1. Twist and pull, pull and twist, again and again, and again.
    Wool enrolls in sweaters. Cottons enlists in motifs with poise.
    Each project better than the last, becoming chief of all.
Example: Play the day away, sit back, crochet.

Wonder

Photo by sydney Rae on Unsplash

When you’re sitting on the grass
Just letting the time pass
Any moment magic can be born
So look up and see the unicorn

Oh the Fair!

Photo by Pascale Amez on Unsplash

Fair weather reigns for the glorious fair
where you wander through the enchanting wares.
Say you’ll return, oh but when? Do not say;
today is set aside as a wondrous day.

Forget your woes. But the fair don’t forget,
for here laughter thrives. Treasure it for
besetting days devoid of mirth; beset
your terrors with delights held in your

heart; in the dark you’ll not grow faint in heart.
So recall the fair and the sky just so
Part the crowds, enjoy the sights, every part,
oh, the games and rides and everything oh!

Delight in the joy for these delights
light the grim gloom with shimmering lights.



This is a Shadow Sonnet, where the first and last word of each line is the same. It makes for some interesting writing. I cheated a little, but I think the end result isn't bad.


 

Ramble

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Across the trellis
Fluttering
Roses ramble on

A Flock of Words

Photo by Alex He on Unsplash

Somewhere there’s a flock of words
Searching for pastures of paper
Thirsty for a lake of endless ink

And once they’ve steeped in ink
Off go those frolicsome words
Rolling and rolling across the paper

Until at last the paper
Lies covered in ink
Rife with the imprint of words

With just a little ink and paper, so many words are caught

Freeing the Bridge

Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash

Wild weeds grow o’er the road
for no creature lingers here,
no sound of finch nor toad,
just the dank stench of fear.
But the bridge still stands robust
a delightful spot for a stroll.
Yet, the pleasant sight spawns mistrust,
for under the bridge dwells the troll,
with a chilling baleful glare
and razor pointed teeth ready to bite.
Only fools venture there,
arrogant fools - and the knight,
with a sword and a shield
and an iron will that refuses to flee,
the troll is forced to yield
to her and at last the road is free.

Small Pleasures

Photo by Giulia Bertelli on Unsplash

Yarn in many colors
Many sounds and sighs
Happy visions unfolding

Words scattering across the page
Fluid poems diving into novels
Windows to other sights of life

Small pleasures build up to something grand

Guarding the Road

Photo by Alejandro Luengo on Unsplash

Across the river spans the ivory bridge
Linking perilous roads from to ridge to ridge
In the turbulent waters below
Dwells the troll
He keeps the bridge and guards the road
If you chance upon him do not run
Though his tusks are sharp and his mace can stun
And he could smash you into a blot
Without a second thought
Don’t try to hide
Just accompany him down to brunch
Where he’ll serve plums and quiche and punch



This is an update to a poem I wrote last year: Bridge Troll and shared with dVerse.

Little Leaves

Photo by Dmytro Tolokonov on Unsplash

Lost against the bark
Minuscule leaves are
Nature-shy as they try
Out new life in the air
Proving the worth of spring before
Queuing up and rushing out

The Hunt

Photo by Paul Hanaoka on Unsplash

Intruders lurk in my house
unseen. When I spy the mouse,
I attack and cannot rest
until death befalls the pest.

On Cue

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

The snow has melted
Sinking through
The ground down to where
Roots wait patiently
For the sun
Springing up on cue
Clothing the world anew
With vibrant
Blooming, rejoicing life

Dredge for Toasted Stars

Photo by Carolina Heza on Unsplash

Everything’s coming up roses
Thorns striking up a foxtrot
Their fragrance singing all the time
The wooden door has lost its key
Smooth worn metal from the many fingers
That never held it
And caused the hens to lay
The purring painting of opportunity
When you knelt in the night sky
Dredging for toasted stars
And the fox will say
Machines will learn
And burnished roses glow
Beside the wooden door



This mixed up little poem comes from a prompt called "Twenty Little Poetry Projects." There's a list of twenty random things to stick into a poem. I didn't get all of them, but it kept me entertained!

Dreams

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

The fleeting light of singing stars
And bursts of color never seen
Paint the night with a scintillating
Dream that curls like a leaping cat
And stretches like a noontime shadow
Twisting, growing steady until
It disembarks in sunlight and paints the world

Value

Photo by Jasmin Sessler on Unsplash

Of all that’s valued high,
prices reaching to the sky,
many glint with gold
or sheen of something old.
Yet with all this social distancing, I can’t decide
which is valued most: Meeting you sans screen?
Or rolls of toilet paper stacked close by?


Written for dVerse.
 
I've been thoroughly enjoying all the posts and pictures highlighting the importance of toilet paper to our current society; they've been bringing a much needed laugh. 

On a more serious note, please consider joining members and friends of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on Good Friday in Fasting and Prayer for relief from COVID-19. Stay safe everyone!

How to Read a Book

Photo by 🇸🇮 Janko Ferlič on Unsplash

It’s a quest to pick just the right book
as you search through every nook
running your fingers over the spine.
Does the title sound sublime?
is the cover so faded it’s hard to view,
or is it crisp and bright and new?

When you finally pull the tome off the shelf
and hide away with just the book and yourself
do the words erupt and leap off the page,
or are the characters all hiding backstage?
Where are you going as the pages flip by
while alone upon your couch you lie?

Now that your journey’s begun
there’s work to do before you’re done.
For you’ve become both jury and judge
opinions are forming; will they budge?
Does it please you, or do you learn?
Will you set it aside before the last page turns?

Each and every book is change
no matter how large the range,
they cause your thoughts to readjust.
Inspiring doubts; creating trust.
So will you venture into the fray
and learn how you will change today?



Looking for a life changing book? Try The Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ.

Sunrise

Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash

Watch the light as it plays
Building up a full new day
Tossing up pink and yellow rays

First, just a hint of rosy rays
Peeking over treetops as they play
Then suddenly; a scintillating day

Such a glorious new born day
Wrapped in the sun’s vibrant rays
As they flash and glint and play

And when the play is done, day sinks down into setting rays.

Splendid

Photo by John Jennings on Unsplash

Splattering of ink
Spilling words
Splendid thoughts and rhymes

Monarch Revisited

Photo by Alex Guillaume on Unsplash

Inching o’er the milkweed stalk
munching leaves around the clock;
it has no time to stop and talk,
but continues on its hungry walk
feasting throughout the day.
Until at last it can begin,
to spin and spin and spin,
before retreating deep within,
hanging in a grand display.
On the branch, bundled; sleeping
resting from its insect creeping
in renewal steeping
tucked away from gazes peeping;
the chrysalis sways.
And morphs from gentle green to clear
until at last the cracks appear
now it’s time for the premier:
watch the tenant fly away.
Flitting now from flower to flower,
glorying in its newfound power;
as it wiles away the hour
monarch of this fragrant bower
lights upon a purple spray.
Glances o’er its fertile land,
where mint and lilac hand in hand
fan out like jewels in vistas grand
under the sun’s dazzling rays.



I started this poem back in 2019, updated it back in February, and then revisited it again now. I think I'm done at this point, but who knows! Shared with dVerse for OpenLinkNight.