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Today's poem or short story prompt is the word "regrets"
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ReplyDeleteI imagine that somewhere
there is a man
who keeps track
of his regrets.
He writes them in spiral notebooks
and stores them in his
two-car garage
in boxes sealed with tape
I imagine that he filled it
and had to add a second story
and that he built a shed beside it
to keep his gardening tools (and his saw)
The gardening tools are rusty
He wanted to grow tomatoes
(Box 8, notebook 26, p 4)
(Box 22, notebook 7, p 16 & 24)
(Box 22, notebook 8, p 4, 11, 73)
(Box 46, notebook 16, p 91)
(others)
I imagine waking past his house one day
during planting season
and seeing him through the window
sitting at the dining room table
with an open notebook in front of him
writing
writing
writing
and not planting anything.
- Mike Fedel
April, 2013
Nothing But Regrets
ReplyDeleteI have always wondered at those seemingly happy souls that come to the point in their life, whether it be contemplative third-act middle age or whether it be curtain coming down drooling liquid meals on the terry cloth day into night wear. These seemingly happy souls when asked "Do you have any regrets" have the audacity to spout statements like "No." Or "I'd do it all again". Or "Regrets, who has time for regrets?"
When I hear these sprightly answers I instinctly wish to wave a wand and make these happy folks disappear.
What kind of person lives without regrets? I mean, I have two to three regrets before I get out of bed each morning. I regret I did not snag a rich man while I had all my looks. I regret that I live with a man who can't follow a few simple directions for feeding my pets. One only need to concentrate and perform simple calculations to feed the two cats and two dogs. The toy poodle of undetermined age with four teeth needs to have his senior grain-free chicken kibble softened with warm water for five minutes and then mixed with a tablespoon of wet. The minature poodle needs one cup of dry foot mixed with two tablespoons of wet. His phenol barbitol pill must be crushed and added to the wet. These are to control his seizures. Do not let the toy poodle near the minature poodle's food or there could be fatal consequences (and one more death this year will precipitate a new anti-depressant because Sweet Jesus I need a break).
The cats need wet and dry food. The orange cat needs a 1/2 teaspoon of hairball remedy with the wet. Do not let the patchwork cat eat the orange cat's food or the consequences will be regretable.
These are the pre-coffee regrets. Before and after lunch I have a series of regrets. Like today's regret was why did I eat cheese popcorn from the vending machine when with a little foresight and a walk of less than a half a mile I cold have had a delicious and healthy Subway sandwich.
Then I began to ruminate (regret came shortly after the rumination) that I didn't lie when I took this job. I should have answered nine years when the HR person asked how much experience I had in my field. I answered truthfully six years and thus started at a lower pay grade. No one checked those years of experience. Now I'm three years behind.
Six months ago I read one of those self-help, life affirming tomes. While it did not address regrets in particular, the thrust of the book was that I need to count my blessings.
So I came up with three blessings. This felt good, so the next night I did the same thing and came up with three more. However, by the third night the repetitive nature of practicing "an attitude of gratitude" started to get old and really wear me out. Who was I kidding? Only myself. So really what was the point?
So when that day comes and some inquiring mind wants to know whether I have regets or not, I will be able to answer truthfully and wholeheartedly, "Baby, I got nothing but regrets."