I am getting a very late poetic start this day.

I have not been laying abed with bonbons and bad TV.

I have been turning some PINS into reality.

(oh sure, now the rhymes start coming.)

Y'all, can I make a confession?    Can you handle the truth?

My house is a mess!

I don't necessarily mean "dirty" messy.    Although, Monkey Boy was in the library bathroom for quite some time, so I probably cannot guarantee.......Oh man:  Just Don't Go In There!

I am referring to the kind of mess which comes from toys, books, clothing, crayon, markers, pencils, pencil crayons, erasers, notebooks, school bags, lunch bags, thermos, sippy cups, glue, glitter (ease up eh Tink....my house doesn't need to glow), pipe cleaners, stamps, feathers (oh yes)......all Times Three.

I haven't even named anything Left Brain and I own.

Short story:  we need some major organization around here.    On a budget.
Thank goodness:   There's a Pin for that.

I have a dream, that one day, I will no longer be Stuck....Under Stuff.


Today’s prompt comes from Catherine Lee.

Here’s Catherine’s prompt: Write a stuck poem. Write about the struggle or the inability to move. Maybe you’re stuck in traffic, in a bad job, or a relationship.



 Stuck Schmuk

It took me all day 
to write this poem
the words just would not be plucked
lost, trapped; they rolled about
inside my head - amuck
begging to be released
loosed from the crevice
where they had snuck
my own thoughts held hostage
perplexed victims of my inability
to grasp some poetic luck
and find another word; besides that
to rhyme with stuck.


That's all I got in me today.
I'm blaming the hot glue.