Day In Haiku

Up at crack of noon
Day has become my nightime
Catch me on flipside

A Rose By Any Other Name...

by Florence Ondré


"Oh, honey, I heard you making sleepy noises last night. You sounded soooo cute!"

That was my body's gasping for life breath during the night of sleep; also known as the little death.

Isn't it humorous how love can change even the worst gargling sounds into coos; the most unimaginable ralings into adorable traits and the human body's hoots and toots into something to chuckle about?!

Whistles, eeks and squeaks and pit stop rests in between ee aws and lip quavering brrrs are anything but cute folks.

Let's be honest here...it's snoring!
Plain and simple, not too attractive noise that rocks and rolls the house, shakes the bed and rattles your bones!

It's serious stuff. People can stop breathing. You can lose loved ones - from your sleeping quarters and your life. (Isn't there a box under the 'cause' heading you can check nowadays when filing for divorce that says, "Irreconcilable Snoring?")

Can you remember a time when you thought, "Oh, it's not me. It's only the other person who makes those silly sounds?" And now, here you find yourself facing the stone cold, hard truth....It's you!!!!!!!
You've become the in-residence noisemaker.

How could that have happened? You've been dainty all your life and now you are in the buzz saw category without so much as a by-your-leave from the Gods!

Here's what you've come to in life:

The only saving grace is that you have someone who loves you who thinks you're making 'sleepy noises'...and you're cute.

Which Way Did They Go?

by
Florence Ondré

What's Saturday doing here? Wasn't that yesterday?
I’m fairly sure that's when I woke up with weekend to-do lists in my head.
So, what's it doing on my plate today?
It's brain boggling how days can get lost like errant socks in the wash. They must be in the tumbler on spin cycle of my mind.
There's where I need a repair person.
Ratchet my grey matter up a notch or rev the world down. I don't know which would give more ability to keep things like days of the week in a more orderly fashion. Time's a blur right now. I can barely keep two thoughts together in a semblance of shape. There’s so much busyness; cacophony of chores calling, “Me first. Me first!”
Days become night before I get half of what I'd like to accomplish done. Dinner slips into an 8-ish slot and heartburn makes a frequent P.M. visit as I barely get the pots and pans washed and put away.
If I hit the couch, I'm a goner; waking up in some wee hour with drool on my cheek, a crimp in my neck and permanent eyeglass pinch marks on the bridge of my nose.
Now that's attractive!
Of course, by that time, I'm up. And getting to sleep is either a stumbling-up-the-stairs-fall-into-bed-like-a-stone affair; mumbling like my father used to when Mom caught him napping, “I lay down for a minute. Was just resting my eyes,” or my peepers are wide open like someone toothpick propped them. No rest for the weary. Good time to write.
Everything is still. Nothing to deter me from getting words together. No one to blame for interruptions in the creative flow.
..................And my mind's a blank.