National Poetry Month Display @ Forest Hills (Photo credit: mySAPL)
I managed to meet and exceed my walking goal, walking six days out of seven. Nothing prevented me from getting down to the gym at work on Thursday, the day I missed. I simply didn’t get my butt out of the chair and go down there. No excuse.
Still, I lost 3/4 of a lb. Hot diggety. I can’t give progress on measurements, because I didn’t take any last week and haven’t take any this week.
I actually submitted some poems this week, and I plan to submit some more today or tomorrow. Part of the problem is sheer laziness on my part: I’d far rather write than submit, and another is the many, many poems that need to be looked over and organized.
Yes, they’re filed in folders in Google drive. No, I don’t have a good list of what I have and what I want to submit where, blah, blah. Yes, organizing the poems, though important, is way down my list of things I want to do. Sigh.
Naturally, instead of organizing the poems, I wrote another:
Ignore it, hope it goes away,
wanders somewhere else to play,
on the beach in heaps of sand,
plucked by any stranger’s hand,
out of sight and out of mind,
turn my head, pretend I’m blind.
Hurl it over any wall.
Drop it in the shopping mall.
Shoo it out or make it hide,
in the basement or outside.
Wonder if I’ll be here when
it meanders back again.
Here is the start of a story. Consider adding to it:
She was driving down the dark, foggy road at midnight, on too little sleep, and Kate realized she must have made a wrong turn. She’d come to a dead end. Backing the car up and making a three-point turn was beyond her, so she pulled her backpack from the back seat, grabbed her hat and gloves, and climbed out of the car. Stepping through a patch of fog, she became dizzy and crumpled to the ground. When she came to, she realized she’d crossed some kind of barrier and entered a new world.