Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Chirp…Chirp

chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp
said crickets, crickets, crickets. 
small Thanksgiving poem. (lame, silent, like an e) 

I think I will take poetic license 

poetic license

noun

license or liberty taken by a poet, prose writer, or other artist in deviating from rule, conventional form,logic, or fact, in order to produce a desired effect.

Origin: 

1780–90 

and call it a haiku. 

hai·ku

  [hahy-koo]  Show IPA

noun, plural hai·ku for 2.

1.

a major form of Japanese verse, written in 17 syllables divided into 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables,and employing highly evocative allusions and comparisons, often on the subject of nature or one ofthe seasons.

2.

a poem written in this form.

Origin: 
1895–1900;  < Japanese,  equivalent to hai ( kai ) haikai + ku  stanza; see hokku

My little Thanksgiving haiku. Note. Poetic license has been around longer than haiku so poetic license trumps.

The Thanksgiving crickets chirp because I have nothing to say today. And I have a long shopping and to do list and a few things to accomplish to make Thanksgiving smell and taste yummy.

So. With no more ado. Here's to a wonderful Thanksgiving to you and yours. I hope you find joy in the interaction you have with loved ones, or in connecting with new friends. I hope you find more than food for the belly and instead find gratitude and growth in the upcoming year.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Drifting

Since my mom was concerned about my moment of melancholy...someone else might be, too.  It was just a small dark cloud that only left behind a poem...

Darkness sighs at 2:00 a.m.

Tendrils of sulphur tinted sorrow waft over me.

I sink further into my slumber

Midnight velvet weeps. Witching hour past.

Ebony shards, shattered slivers of brittle coal tears

I toss and dream

Lightless eternity shrieks at 3:45.

Moans scented of hopeless decay.

Ghouls shimmy, unseen, behind the curtain of life.

Senses, skin alert, I awaken. Startled. And drift, dazed, into blessedly dreamless sleep.

Shadows, sorrow, fear play hide and seek in my mind 

Night clutches. Holding me until it's grip weakens. One spindly finger at a time, ground lost until it's grasp slips into gray. 

And then the sun. 

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Rosy Nosed ~ A Modern Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a middle-aged woman named Rosy Nosed.

As a young maiden Rosy Nosed understood that she had been born into a land of plenty, with resources and raw materials all around her, some at her very fingertips.

Rosy Nosed felt an insatiable curiosity about life and had deep down in her soul the desire to change the world. Even the very good land of plenty needed some tweaking.

Armed with her curiosity, her desire to be a world changer, and an ever growing list of lessons learned and skills accomplished, she set out on a journey to find her story.

Early on in life, Rosy Nosed met a very wise guide who offered to come along. She accepted His terms, with a few unique edits, and would consult Him now and again. However, she would use earplugs if she wanted to veer a direction He wasn't keen on.

And this went on, this journey of discovery. It took Rosy Nosed through education, periods of creativity, passionate pursuits, and into sacrifice as she married her handsome prince and brought children into the world. These paths took Rosy Nosed through some very dark, haunted forests, as well. Her wise guide proved to be Her Savior many times during those dismal, dank, days. Those struggles in the gloom, where she battled inky black shadows, things that bumped and gnashed, groping fingers of trees... yes... those struggles brought Rosy Nosed to a few new understandings, and introduced her to a bravery she never knew she owned.

With a renewed awareness of her need to listen to her Guide and let Him show her the paths to step on, and that her bravery was a gift, she picked up the pace and became very aware that this journey didn't lead to her life, but that it was her life. And when she looked behind she could see places she'd been, and could see evidence that by trodding and trying and struggling and moving forward, that she had made a difference in the land. Not the whole land, not every citizen. But where she had been, she had left a mark.

The middle-aged Rosy Nosed smiles at these thoughts. She knows her journey has really just begun, today is, after all the present...the future is not promised and the past is used up, but the present is now and is indeed, a gift. Today, she decides that where she will walk will become a better place because she will pass through. With a hum and a smile, she moves forward, to change the world.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Twists of Tongue and Tweak of Mind

You never know what you might find....
 

You know how I lapse into bizarre poetry at times? 

Well, I don't very often, fortunately. But you need to see how I come by this naturally. 

These are extra special snippets from the family Easter dinner email discussion. No names will be used to protect the innocent...of which are few...very few. 

------------------------------------------------------

To set a time to meet would be quite a feat ---- night, noon, or morning as long as there is warning.  Where we go, just let me know.  Of course we'll meet the vegan wishes for some plant-based dishes

----------------------------------------------------

Egad, egad, no prose is had--

I cannot rhyme for lack of time--

So I shall bring some veggie thing,

Like peppers milled & onions grilled 

With mushrooms sliced & olives diced:

Random shopping, taco topping.

You may desist & shake your fist,

But dear Shakespeare has naught to fear.

-----------------------------------------------------

Me, who eschews 

words of superflous
wonders what is left
that leaves the table bereft? 

 

----------------------------------------------------

 

Around 21 our number should be,
 which rules out a sit down As you can see.
  So, plan on buffet style, and casual attire
If you see a hole in the menu, then ready, aim, fire,
And fill it up to your heart’s content. 
A good time of fellowship is the intent.
A time to praise God for His magnificent ways
A time to thank Him for the Ancient of Days. 
(Gotta love the nice reason for the season plug! 
Impressive word wrangling, said with a smile and shrug. )
 

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Just a Thought...

Life is an onion and one cries while peeling it.  

~French Proverb

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Fresh, Farm Art...

Nothing crazy happened at the farm. No creepie-crawlie, shuddery encounters. 

The vegetables were picked and ready to pack. The day was beautiful, almost autumn-like. And after weeks of heat, heat, heat, so welcome. The hundred degree dry wave has taken a toll on the veggies. The tomatoes are beginning to rebound from the heat and will probably continue as there are lots of sets and plenty of time for ripening. With the cooler temperatures there should be some decent picks left. The lettuces will be appearing again, soon. The potatoes are a different story. After some research, the farmer has decided that the uppermost potatoes were nearly cooked in the ground so they were quick to rot. They pulled out a decent yield. Just decent, though, and barely equivalent to what they planted. Then, over the following days potatoes began to turn. The yield shrunk to nominal. But. There hasn't been hail like last year.

The pack was quick and full of delicious items like eggplant, zucchini, cucumbers, onions, garlic, tomatoes, kale and basil.

Picmonkey helped me turn the pictures of the fabulous piles of eggplant into art. Something about the well-used plastic table and the harsh daylight shining on the eggplant, though beautiful, was a little bit stark. 

And, yes, I'm enjoying Picmonkey experimentation. 

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Photo Tweak-a-Bit

picmonkey tweaking

picmonkey playtime

picpicpicmonkey

tweak via picmonkey

Original

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Sing-Song

Photo credit: paulabflat from morguefile.com

A bird does not sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song.

Chinese proverb

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ A Bit of Truth for the Journey...and One More for the Road

One more for the road...

Therefore I tell you, stop being perpetually uneasy (anxious and worried) about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink; or about your body, what you shall put on. Is not life greater [in quality] than food, and the body [far above and more excellent] than clothing?

Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father keeps feeding them. Are you not worth much more than they?

And who of you by worrying and being anxious can add one unit of measure (cubit) to his stature or to the span of his life?

And why should you be anxious about clothes? Consider the lilies of the field and learn thoroughly how they grow; they neither toil nor spin.

Yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his magnificence (excellence, dignity, and grace) was not arrayed like one of these.

But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and green and tomorrow is tossed into the furnace, will He not much more surely clothe you, O you of little faith?

Therefore do not worry and be anxious, saying, What are we going to have to eat? or, What are we going to have to drink? or, What are we going to have to wear?

For the Gentiles (heathen) wish for and crave and diligently seek all these things, and your heavenly Father knows well that you need them all.

But seek (aim at and strive after) first of all His kingdom and His righteousness (His way of doing and being right), and then all these things taken together will be given you besides.

So do not worry or be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will have worries and anxieties of its own. Sufficient for each day is its own trouble.

Matthew 6:25-34 Amplified Bible

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ A Bit of Truth for the Journey

If you think you are on your path all alone. Without someone to watch over you. Think again.

Are not two little sparrows sold for a penny? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground without your Father's leave (consent) and notice.

But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

Fear not, then; you are of more value than many sparrows.

Matthew 10:29-31 from the Amplified Bible.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Lame-da, Lame-duh Recapped Week

such a "poem" deserves such a picture.

Week in summary in freestyle kind of random poemish type verse. Scarily, there was a cadence in my head as I typed. And Scarily is probably as creative as it gets...


Cat's on the table, what a nasty trick
Finally got winter snow was nice and thick

Germs fill the household, the nasty kind
Had a birthday party, and spent some fam time.


Tweaked a few recipes. Read a few lines.
Watched old TV episodes on Netflix
While  "shopping" ideas on Pinterest. 
Went to a funeral, The sixth in the past few months.


Walked a few dogs. 
Supported a few grocery stores.
Read a few blogs. 

Going to meet Toad-man for coffee at 6:15.
Ugly time of morning 
but such a blessing.


Hope you didn't gag at the lame-o poem.
And I'm out of words. And out of steam. 

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Poetry and Photos by Pat

Yes. That Pat. My poet papa.





God can make the weeds in your life a magnificent testimony of His grace.


God's reminder that the canes of life's punishments and hardships are trumped by His all-atoning work. He turns the cursed into crowning glory. Amen.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Can't Stop Christmas an Odd Ode

oh the snow we did get.

the powder did fly.

the icicles grew

and the cars they did try.


Christmas still came

with windy whispers,

snow plumes and

great gusty gasps

and a whole lot less folks

than we normally have.


the turkey fed fewer

and the pickings were slim.


the glittery snow blanket

cosseted the usual din,

the last-minute rushin, the one-more-thing trip to the mall,

and those problems didn't change

one thing at all.


Christmas, whether you know the real meaning of Christ and His gift,

is about loving, and giving and sharing yourself, as He did.


Traditional not,

skinnier and sparse

Christmas still happened and I consider myself blessed.

Scribble and Scrambles ~ St. Patty Lame-Poem...

Top of the Evenin to Ya

A little Poem in honor of St. Patrick and Green Stuff

My name is Kelly
Doesn't get more Irish than that... jiggity, jiggity, jig
I write, so I must be a poet... jiggity, jiggity, jig
I speak much blarney, I birthed a St Patty day babe...jiggity, jiggity, jig

My dad's name is Patrick...jiggity, jiggity, jig

St. Patrick, or someone, played songs and lured snakes, or was it rats, or mayhaps children...jiggity, jiggity, jig
I lure dogs with little brown bones and chewy fake steaks...jiggity, jiggity, jig
So if you're in Ireland kiss the Blarney Stone and if you are in America eat corned beef and cabbage and celebrate with a jiggity, jiggity, jig.

Mayhaps this poem is MUCH better if read after a stumble/minor head injury during a riverdance jiggity, jiggity, jig

Scribble and Scrambles - Freaky - Deaky Friday-Fest

The critters and I want to greet you with a hearty. "Happy Friday." But, the critters generally use non-verbal greetings such as a power jump with paws planted on your chest followed by everyone's favorite wherein eager snouts visit places where the sun doesn't shine and the wind doesn't blow, followed by a juicy kiss upside your do.

Those friendly little furballs would be Lily and Lola, the extroverts. (You can watch just a fraction of what they do when excited by clicking on the box. I will get better footage one day so you can see them in all their glory.)

Now Feral -- the wild one, and Stealth Cat -- aka The Screamer, will either hiss and disappear, stalk your ankles or have a wicked ugly cat fight that will curl your do.

Maybe I should be the only one who wishes you a hearty "Happy Friday."
It should probably be a freestyle poem of the lameish period.

Ode to Friday

Friday, Friday. You of short hours and lightning speed minutes.

Though the sky be drear and gray,
The sun of hope and expectations
Rises in the breast of all who work in cubicles.

I've heard it said that Friday
Just doesn't do it for weekend workers...
But should I care?
Melancholy, tortured artiste that I am?

Shall I abuse Friday,
Mayhap name a restaurant after it,
A disco, or a song?
Scoff.

Fri, fri, fri, what does fri mean?
Is that where fish on Fryday originated?
Fri, fri, free...freeday?
Yes, that must be the origin of this beautiful word.
Wallace didn't yell freedom.
No, he was calling for Freeday. It's on film.

May the sun shine upon you on the morrow, but only after you've gotten your beauty slumber.
May Saturday drag slowly, seeming endless, unless you have an awful list of chores.
May Monday delay.
Enjoy Friday.

Scribble and Scrambles - Monday...a Lame Poem

Apologies extended to any brave souls who read beyond this sentence.

Mixed-Up-Ode to Monday

Monday, you are infamous. Second only to Friday in your 15 minutes of fame spotlight. How many melancholy songs mention you by name?

So really, should you be dismayed that

PEOPLE LOATHE YOU.

Let me tell you why you inspire my passion.

Every Monday morning robs me of sleep. It's true...even on busy Sunday I sleep an hour later. I can't help it if I get a little cranky while suffering sleep deprivation.

I like my job, really I do. But I like it so much more on Friday, and so, so much less on Monday.

And you make me feel guilty, too, Monday. How can I rejoice and be glad in this day that God has made when it's full of sleep deprivation, work and crankiness?

Good news. Tomorrow is Tuesday which is much closer to Friday.

Scribbles and Scrambles - More Pet Poetry

Why oh why is your tongue in my ear?

At two a.m.?

Why do you need me

When I'm walking down the stairs?

If I call you, you stare

As if I am mute.

Then you turn your back.

But while I sleep, or read

or eat. Or work or try to walk through a room

you bat or purr or meow or pose.

A better name for a cat -- a not? Or a won't?

Feral gave me some three a.m inspiration. I've changed times in the poem -- poetic license and all that.

Is Kim the only one with good holiday memories? I expect a few more. I'm working on mine. It will involve music perchance.

And tomorrow...James Scott Bell - you really won't want to miss his answers...

Scribble and Scrambles - Feral Will of The Sharpened Teeth

I was recently inspired to pen a poem.

I think it is up there with "Die, Cricket, Die" with less violence.

Well...maybe not.

This poem rhymes...kind of.

I've entitled it...Feral Will of the Sharpened Teeth

Augh!
I'm being bitten
By a kitten
Wearing taloned mittens.

Gasp!
I'm being gnawed
By a clawed
Beastie-wad.


Yes. It's short, lame and to the point.

And you were expecting...?

In case you don't know the story of Feral Will. Let me share.

Late one recent afternoon the puppies bee-lined toward something fascinating. Their body language prompted us to investigate the reason for much enthusiasm, and there, holding his own, with a Halloween cat pose, stood a teeny kitten.

Of course we saved him, whisking him into the newly formed Klepfer Kitten Foster Care Program. However, over the days of waiting for the few people we asked to adopt him to accept or decline our offer, he began to grow on us. And most importantly, Rob.

Rob didn't care for the name chosen by the household females. Feral Will originally answered to Q-Tip. Full black save for a white-tipped tail, we felt it appropriate.

But with the realization that we could keep him and armed with the goal of a man pleasing name change we struggled through several possibilities. Finally, we decided to use his less than wonderful arrival and add a twist. Acceptance of the truth and a tribute to the Piglet's great-grandfather (Trespassers Will) and an actor appearing in two of our favorite movies.

Now, that dear readers, is creativity through the sieve of twisted minds.

Would now be an appropriate time to tell you that the picture is a body-double? Feral Will was unavailable for a picture at this time.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Traffic Poem and Life Tip

Thank you, anonymous, for the lovely poem on Wednesday. Feel free, all you other anonymousi, to leave a thought, poem, or life tip.

Have a great weekend - and drive carefully. : )

Ode to Bad Drivers Everywhere.

Nice wave!
Put your finger down.
I was right and you were wrong.
Read the signs or look around
Or can’t you see past your mascara wand?

Hurtling highways breeds discontent
And mating season seems imminent
At least with you glued to my tail

If I wasn’t so patient, I might yell
Okay, I do, but you can’t tell
Since your attention’s focused
ON YOUR CELL

Hey, ET, let’s not phone home
At least while dancing, weaving, speeding
On my road.

Nice helmet.
Melons break on impact though.

Superhero dreams.
Ignorance’s bliss.
Sign up for a reality class.

Aggression pumps
Like poisoned swill

Insanity eeks like sighs
From lips clenched tight

Sometimes the only
Restraint I show
Is because my bumper
Sports a Christian fish.


Life tip for the day:
When speaking on the cell phone, upon entering a public restroom -- don’t.
When nature calls, say, “hold on a minute”, and click over.
In plain English…it’s just gross to talk on the phone while toilets flush in the background.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Color Musings - The Poem

Color Musings – by Kelly Klepfer

Blue skies, so they say
Periwinkle, baby, robin egg
I wouldn’t know…
Been stuck inside all day.

Burnt Sienna draped
1970’s furniture
Legal documents posted
Over dirty eggshell walls.

Coffee sludge lines my mug
Afternoon slump begs
For orange, yellow, red
Anything bright to clear my head.

Silver clock beckons me.
Is it really after three?

I’m outta here.