Her hope sprouts each day Blooms and branches spread out far Damned roots stuck in clay I wrote this haiku before Thanksgiving, and today I created the image using ArtRage. This is my post for Day 26 for #NaBloPoMo November 2016.
She stood up to wear Pants to dress down a clown A ticklish talent I wrote this haiku before Thanksgiving and then created the image using ArtRage. This is my post for Day #26 in #NaBloPoMo November 2016.
Supper planned tonight Savory bites to measure Family, pie, and wine I created the image using ArtRage and wrote this haiku. This is my post for Day #24 in #NaBloPoMo November 2016. Let’s go, #NaBloPoMo.
Her façade surreal A bedazzled face, a scene Sober, she is real I created this image using ArtRage last night, and then wrote the accompanying haiku. This is my post for Day #23 in #NaBloPoMo November 2016. I wrote this post after doodling the image using ArtRage on my tablet.
Crazy orange man. President-to-be-man. Not normal man. Nazi-enabling man. Help us, man. I wrote this brief post in 60 seconds using oneword™, a website designed to provide the user with a timed writing prompt. While on that site, simply click “go” and one word appears with a text box. My word
Her strides curb to spot Bright blooms bedazzled downtown Distracted, she trips ___________________ I created this image tonight, and then wrote the accompanying haiku. I missed my daily walk today. I mean that I really did miss taking a walk downtown today. This is my post for Day #21 in
“Walk with me, Stella,” purred the blue cat. “Let me share something with you.” Still grappling with the reality of a world with talking animals and no sun, Stella simply nodded and kept pace with her new azure companion as it shared with her a cautionary tale. Stella listened for hours
Stella had fallen asleep. She was laying on the floor in the moonlight. She didn’t realize it, but she was also curled next to the meteorite that had mysteriously broke through her dining room window earlier in the day. Breathing softly, Stella dreamed of vast flowing landscape. She saw hills
“Seriously, mom. I think this thing is a meteorite, and it’s sounds like it is singing.” “Well, Stella, sounds to me like you’ve got a mess,” countered her homebound 81-year-old mother. “Well, mom, it does look wet. And I think it is starting to stink,” replied Stella as she leaned