Tag: just goofing around

Puzzle Number 9 – Done

We finished puzzle number nine yesterday afternoon. It was the most entertaining puzzle. The artist, David Bradley, incorporated fascinating details and used sharp, vivid colors. There were many people in it, and it engaged me and my wife to find a piece and ask, “Okay, where’s this hair go,” “Who is missing an ear with a diamond earring,” “Who has a hand with red fingernails?” Each person was given a nickname for easy reference.

His references were interesting, too. Is that Whistler’s Mother in the background? So many of these people presented seem like stereotypes, I can imagine their their background, involvement, and conversations. And love the takes on Laurel and Hardy, Mona Lisa, and American Gothic, and the greenback on the floor. So entertaining.

Next up: the red Corvette.

 

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The Age

It was the age of toilet paper shortages;

it was the age of puzzle shortages.

It was a time of masks and ventilators,

a time when few had enough,

and some had too much.

It was a time of testing, of being tested,

and waiting to be tested,

and a time to wait for results.

It was the time when nobody could go anywhere,

and everyone wanted to go to work,

a time of confusion, questions, and misinformation,

and a time of heroic sacrifice and hope.

It was a time of worry and a time of concern,

a time to watch, and a time for patience.

It was the time when we lived,

and the time we died.

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Old Soul

I was born with an old soul,

tested by reason,

I will not fold.

You can’t sway me

with money,

you can’t buy me

with gold.

I can’t be timid,

I must be bold.

You can say what you want,

but I can’t be told.

That’s the problem

when you’re born with an old soul.

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All I Want (A Cat’s Lament)

Give me strength

to not claw you as you sit

looking at me

and telling me,

“I don’t understand what you want.”

You’re not trying.

We both know it.

We know what I want.

You’re just being dogmatic about what you’ll give me.

Pig-headed about giving in.

Mulish in your approach to our relationship.

Drawing your head into your shell.

Sticking it into the ground.

Or scurrying, mouse-like, from my demands.

Slithering away from facing up to my natural superiority.

Following the herd about what should be done.

Instead of striking out on your own,

and going in there,

and opening every food that’s available

until we find one that makes me happy.

That’s all I want.

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