“Twitter For Dummies” (a poem) Plus More Free Stuff!!

(poem seekers, please scroll down the page a bit. thanks.)

Dudes!  Remember when I wanted a Chris Edgar “Inner Productivity” book, and for my friend to have one toe? Well, I did buy me one of Chris’ AMAZING books, and another for my friend who so far has blessedly kept all her toes.  And fingers! (She did lose her head once, tho. But haven’t we all?)

I’m offering a third copy of “Inner Productivity” on give-away here today. So, who wants it? And why? Persuade me in a comment below!

“Inner Productivity, A Mindful Path To Efficiency And Enjoyment In Your Work.”

Item number 2 on give-away today… “Twitter For Dummies.”  Who wants it today? And why?

Speaking of  Twitter For Dummies, I wrote a poem inspired by it the other day!

Twitter For Dummies

I still have zero clue most of the time
what I’m doing on Twitter, so please
forgive my unknowing ways and wish

me roses and rhubarb and to never
get my Internet service chopped off.
And please come over to our house, so

I can grill you a steak how you like it!
Unless you’re vegetarian or vegan, in
which case I’ll whip you up my famous

tofu-almond-squash surprise, served
with herbed-roasted red potatoes and
salad. And as much wine as you want!

Just don’t puke on the carpet. But even
if you do, I’ll still love you more than I
love two beers on a hot Texas night.

– end of poem
 
Speaking of poetry, here is another item on offer today.  Who wants Billy Collins’ “Questions About Angels?” And why? 

And don’t worry!  I still have 5 more Billy Collins from my personal book collection to offer this week  too — so, please don’t give up commenting to win them!   Many of your comments will touch me, but alas I can pick only one person per gift.

And the final item I’ll be giving a persuasive commenter today – my “I Need A Man” cd!

I still have 5 more of my cds to give away here this week, too –  THREE of them on Friday, so – please, please keep commenting  as to why you’d like to give my songs a home, and a cd may soon be yours!!  )

Okie-dokie.

Hope you guys will have a great day.  I know I will, deep in Songwriting Zone, weaving and breathing all those snippets of tunes into complete ones.

xoxoxo

Life Is Beautiful (a poem)

photo by: Jannie — May, 2006 (for those of you new here, mine’s the middle kid.)

Do you have fleas you can’t get rid of?
Nothing but bread crusts twice daily?
A board bed? One thin blanket?

Neither do I!! So let’s dance.
And write letters. And sing songs.
And fling our love to the stars!

(The alternate last line is, of course,
And fling our “bras” to the stars!)

Friday Flash 55 For The G-Man!

The Blog Party (a poem)

photo credit: midcoast- images

One by one the guests
stagger from the stars
into my comment box,

some bundled up in
garlands of little birds
laughing and dancing,

some robed in oceans
of late summer sunset.
Others in sepia scenes.

Some wear hats made
of rainbows, and socks
knit from lilies and lace.

Some smell like lilacs.
Some smell like lemons.
Some smell like the light
of the newlywed moon.

Two or three smell like
full length leather coats
not worn since 1975.

Some carry trays packed
with pies and maps and
freshly baked dreams.

Some carry only a rose.

Some flounce in early
with explosions of lupines
dripping from their hair,

to sway by the fire, then
float through the crowd and
slip out my music-room door.

Some limp in after midnight
soaked in beer, to swirl into
my heart and my soul and my
coffee mornings forever.

Others drift away in the fog.

But whoever the sweeties
– from whatever planet,
the more the merrier here!

– The End  

****************************

(If you liked this poem, why not hug somebody today?)

And friends, all these new poets linked below are hereby blessed with the “Jannie Funster Lucky Lupine Poetry Award” … Whoo-hoo!!!

I hope the honorees will leave a new poem on their blogs, linking Lupine Loving Jannie in the post, then pass the “Lucky Lupine” award on to as many poets in the universe as they can find!!

And the awards go to…

Jingle!

The Doubtful Poet

William’s Poetry Blog

Art Is My Religion

You Are Never Alone

Way Station One

Jaymie Thorne

Chocolate High

The Book Of  Noha

Beyond The Blog

Fiveloaf

imaGINAtions voice

Poems For All Occasions

the wisdom of gavroche

Moon’s melancholic mumblings

(I may be adding more poets to this list over the next few days (edit: decades) as I discover them!)

xoxoxoxoxo

Five Pansy Poems, Poem, Pansies

 Additional scintillating pansy-related poems here.

photo: december 2008, by me, The Child’s Mom.

Pansy One
pansy, pansy in the ground
dancing in your velvet gown
here’s a poem to satisfy
all the poets passing by
 
Pansy Two
Diane broke the special pansy mug
I sent her back in my wildsummer days
of the Reliant Transportation System,
beach runnings and golden sealing wax.
I’ve never been able to find another
just like it and I feel I’ve failed her
(as I feel I’ve failed a few in my day.)
Have you seen a china one, embossed,
a mug as light as wedding cake and
shinier on the outside than seaglass?
Of so, please send c.o.d. with froths
of angels’ lashes and the salt o their
tears and I’ll mail you back my heart.

Pansy Three
I had no intention of writing pansy poems
or even of thinking about their little faces
today but my site stats show people are
hungry for pansy poems, as they are
hungry for world peace and the memory
of tea with grandmother’s lemon pie.
Wow, I’ll be a “Super” Semi-Somebody
with all these pansy seekers flooding in!
 
Pansy Four
Mom planted pansies in the shade
beneath the horse chestnut tree –
but they grew!  I remember we felt
so successful.  That was the summer
Uncle Jim visited from a distant galaxy
called Massachusetts — bringing
yellow metal swings for the boys and
a glass tea set for me.  I think I was
eight or nine. It was also the summer
there was no ice cream left for the
strawberries to impress the guests
with after the fancy Sunday dinner
because we kids had pilfered it all.
And probably a summer of new flipflops
and a beachball too, if I dig any deeper
than I’ve already digged into this.
 
Pansy Five
Long-live pansies, Leonard Cohen’s daisies
and all twinkle shooters everywhere, waiting
with bouquets of freshly-cut kisses for me!

Twitterpated (not!) (yet)

I’m frightened by Twitter.

Don’t really understand it,

neither the why nor how.

Several blogging friends

have tried to explain but I

just don’t get it.  Am I the

only one missing the boat?

@janniefunster, that’s me.

Seeking any and all advice

on why and how to tweet.

Sofa buttocks et al

Response

“it seems so incredible to me that I actually interact with people like you and Rachel who are actual professional musicians,”

the new commenter writes

while I’m thinking,

it seems so incredible to me that I interact with people who actually return to this den of funiquity. (And deem a post worthy of a comment!)

The Bench

We sat on the bench

outside the cafe

crossed legged

facing each other,

knees touching –

a diamond of

mother-daughter.

She was five.

I took her small

hands in mine

to tell her that

her ”best friend”

had not invited her

to the sleepover party.

Overall, she took that

first heartbreak

much better than I.

Error Reports

Banks love you – they are only interested in serving,

couldn’t give a hoot if they ever made a penny or not.

Yes, and somewhere in a room with 1000 computers

Microsoft employees not only reading, but are joyfully

getting to the root of all those Error Reports we send.

Now I Have To Leave This Sofa

Now I have to leave this sofa

where I’d gladly remain  until

the end of my earthly days.

I must get in my car and drive

where many other cars will be,

my standard transmission

making it even harder to be

the lazy one I so love to be.

And the sofa will miss me,

will remember and keep the

indentation of my buttocks 

until I return. (If I return.)

But I should return, as

there is a thick fog and

traffic will be slow — no

spectacular crashes today.

Bumper to bumper, I’ll

push that freaking clutch in

500 times until I’m back here.

But I shouldn’t complain.

I am heartily loved and someday

The Child will be a teen, driving

herself to my hell and back

and no doubt I’ll be missing

these simple days when all I

had to do was pick her up and

drop her off places I’d planned

for her to be, not sitting at home

worrying where she is and if she’s

okay, while this or another fine sofa

will have all my buttocks it can handle.

Song Quest Two

A weight has lifted.

I’ve finally laid down my rucksack and rifle to drink my fill of the first water I’ve had in 24 hours.   Then slept a good sleep while my socks dried out.

My belly’s full.

My comrades all made it through too.

(I’m allowing my music to flow with ease, not struggle.)

The garden where I played my guitar and sang under broad palm leaves earlier tonight was strewn with white lights.  (Edit:  I was just sitting and practicing.)

A girl no older than 6 insisted I take a dollar for a tip.

I’m rich now!

I skipped running yesterday and the day before. Skipped it! But am quite over that guilt now.  As I mentioned, a weight has lifted.   I feel reborn.

Today I will be one with the trees and the river as I walk.  I will drown in the smell of the earthen mulch.  Drink in the birdsong.

I might even run.  All the more fun that it’s raining a bit.

The UVs will not age me!

Then I’ll get a muffin and a coffee.

I hope the muffins will be fresh (even the supermarket is skimping lately.  They probably think no one notices.  But I do.  Still, I forgive them.  Times are tough for many.)

After my coffee-muffin who knows what could happen?

I could discover Paris right here at home.

Find a cat sunning by a gate who lets me pet him.

Do a fandango in the soup aisle.

I want to write a song about…..  I’m not sure.

The ukulele one unearthed itself quite quickly, thanks to the love of my peeps.

I want to write a song as good as ”Tears In Heaven,” “The Girl From Ipanema”  or “The Rainbow Connection.”

(I wanted to write “Blowing In The Wind,” but Dylan beat me to it.  Dang it.)

Universe, where are the words to my melody?

Where is my answer?

In me, of course.

But, where?

And what?