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What to Do About Molly? She brought a snake inside for me,displayed her newest prize to see.I cringed but knew it should not beinside my home so grabbed a broomand swept it out and cleared the room.I have to find a gentle wayto let her know if she will stay,no more these critters can she slayand tote inside for praise, reward.I've closed the door and now she's bored.I should evict in daytime hoursthen she could nap beneath green bowersand sometimes hide from raindrop showers.At night, sans prey, I'd welcome herinside, with love, I'd stroke her fur. ~~Judi Van Gorder Verse Form: Briolette

Ode to Molly Hurry furry little Molly cat you play outside 'til darkness falls then critters roam and scatter skat. They'd love to feast on my butterball, time to come inside, be safe, be warm. And out from under a bush, you crawl. I try to keep you protected from harm, you climb trees and hunt prey by day but after dusk, you cuddle in my arms. I love to caress you as you lay sleeping next to me silky and soft, all snuggled in for the nighttime stay. Your antics oft make me think you're daft and best of all, of course, my favorite, the keyboard stroll as I practice my craft. ~~ Judi Van Gorder

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Irish Verse Treochair (tripe key) is written in accentual syllabic tercets which is a departure from the syllabic quatrains of most dan direach of ancient Irish forms. The elements of the Treochair are: stanzaic, written in any number of tercets. accentual syllabic 3-7-7 syllables per line, L1 carries 2 stresses, L2 carries 3 stresses, L3 carries 2 stresses. rhymed, axa bxb cxc ....ending with axa generously alliterated. Saturday Mornings by Mike Montreiul Waking up from the dream of another... Come, will you drink from my cup? A first thought... I recognize that odd voice; not quite cut from the same cloth. Elmer Fudd, Saturday morning cartoons, falling again in the mud. It's a game... I used to remember too, waking up, pretending lame. Make it fast was my one favorite wish, watching Dad make the breakfast. My turn now; pancakes are made as he did. Not enough time for a wow, Time to go! Too many errands need me. When will I ever be slow? Waking up from the dream of another... Come, will you drink from my cup?

Hi Y'all, I have been away for over a year to care for my husband (with amazing assistance from St Joseph's Hospice) and to finish the last of my 40 year financial career. November 30, 2021 I closed my Agency two weeks after my husband of 58 years, passed. I'm still taking care of loose ends from my former life but I am tentatively picking up the pen and want to get back into writing. Reading that February is Haiku Month was the spark that I needed to ease in. So here I am on February 1, 2022, Chinese New Year - The Year of the Tiger. Maybe a haiku a day for 28 days will get me going. You are welcome to join me if you feel so inclined. I missed this community. ~~Tink 2022 #1 sleeping tiger wakes to the sounds of celebration Gong hei fat choy! jvg

broken red flower pot more kitty mischief ~~jvg books on a shelf lifeless until read ~~jvg aroma of coffee brewing morning's silent alarm ~~jvg

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Japanese Verse Dodoitsu is a Japanese folk verse usually written about work, family or love and often with a touch of humor. It originated with the Gombei, people of the Japanese back country. The name literally means "quickly, city to city" probably so named for its rapid rise in popularity in the 1600s which was the beginning of Japan's "Modern Period". The poem commonly reflects changing urban life with a humorous or ironic twist. Alcohol (sake, in particular) is frequently mentioned. It's not just a poem, it is performance art. It's traditional for the Japanese verses to be sung while the performer strums a shamisen (a Japanese stringed instrument, similar and probably a descendant of the sanxian). The form has been referred to as the Japanese limerick. Like most Japanese poetry, the dodoitsu draws the emotion from the image. The elements of the Dodoitsu are: syllabic, written in 26 syllables or less. (in Japanese, 26 onji or sound syllables, impossible to translate to English) commonly written in 4 lines of 7-7-7-5 syllables each. a moment or thought quickly captured. usually unrhymed but rhyme can be at the poet's discretion should reflect changing urban life with a humorous or ironic twist. titles regularly pluck a phrase from the poem. simplified for the English writer. When composed in Japanese, there is one site that suggests a stricter frame. The three 7-syllable lines are sometimes further broken up into units. These units often contain a single word or phrase, followed by a post-positional "particle" that identifies the word/phrase's grammatical function or gives it context. Line 1: 3-syllable unit + 4-syllable unit Line 2: 4-syllable unit + 3-syllable unit Line 3: 3-syllable unit + 4 syllable unit Line 4: 5 syllable unit Five Minutes to Five Thursday afternoon is dead, phones become silent and wait until five minutes to five to ring, on Friday. ---Judi Van Gorder A Dodoitsu found and translated by Roseille @ Writing.com 明日は雨だと君から聞いて 傘を忘れる用意するI heard from you that it will rain tomorrow. I already have plans to forget my umbrella. 腹の立つときゃ　茶碗で酒を　酒は涙か　ためいきかWhen I am angry, I (pour more) sake into my cup. Is the sake tears, or is it a sigh? Dodoitsu performed, it is noted that the Dodoitsu in this video is "sensual".

Not every poem has to be great poetry. ~~jvg #1 Coffee, hot and sweet, begins my day. The strong liquid wakens my mind. #2 How fast the kitten is growing up. She has doubled in size, too soon. #3 Sunday, day of rest and I need it. I'll pray from home today, Thanks Lord. #4 Ocean fog creeps in, cools summer heat. The damp chill is welcome. Calming. #5 Silence surrounds me. Even the birds keep their songs within them, at peace. ~~jvg Cinqku

It's six years now since you arrived, my status is revised! Once I was master of this home, and you an errant child. And then you grew, were free to roam, all weakness to despise. Externally all soft and cute, but underneath still wild. You sneak around like Gollum: up and down the hill, mysterious and ghost-like, preoccupied at night; with me reduced to doorman while you come and go at will. I’ve been usurped completely! Oh dear! This can’t be right! 2 “Is he out or is he in?” she calls me up the stairs: “On my window ledge!” I say, glowering at his eyes. Buttons: set amusingly amid a jet black face, watch me keenly all the way, as trousers cover thighs. ‘She!’( Your staunchest ally!) Who provides you with good food and copper bottomed health plan complete with life-long deal; will hear no word against you. And it causes me to brood as YOU purr sycophantically, permitting HER a ‘feel’. 3 My careful tended flowers have your close attention and rage descends upon me, that makes my digits curl. Such arrogant behaviour! A snub to all convention! Preening, eating, sleeping--- not a worry in the world. And then the vindication: by mornings early light, each day a presentation, small pieces of your ‘gold’ at my back door in tribute--- the trophies of 'last night'. A frog, a bird, a newt-- sometimes-- even a little mole.

For two nights each week, Wednesday and Saturday, It was the three of us In your bed. He guarded The space between my ankles, Forbidding me any sleep On my side so we might spoon. You could only lay your arm Across my chest or nuzzle Against me; such was the Dominance of his reign. He would not crawl over us, Would not patrol the bed Underneath the blankets, Would not stir his lithe frame For a 3 AM snack or poop. For two nights each week That grey ball with a tail, Purring between my ankles, Was the only faithful one.