I spent a lot of time in the hospital when I was a kid. When I was about four years old, my dad put a deck of cards in my hands and taught me how to play Solitaire, also known as Patience. That deck of cards was one of the most wonderful gifts I ever received. Cards have whiled away many a lonely hour, whether I was a patient or required patience while waiting for an oil change or something. I’ve had solitaire on every personal mobile device I’ve ever owned, from Palm Pilot to ancient Nokia cell phone, to smart phone, to Kindle Fire. Solitaire and other card games have been on every PC and laptop in our house since that first Gateway 2000 delivered in multiple, cow camouflaged boxes about 20 years ago. As much as I love my electronic devices, there is something about shuffling the cards and setting them out, turning them over and sorting them into four piles that fosters patience and fills time in a satisfying fashion.

This is today's entry for the NPM Scavenger Hunt using prompt #30 Patience. I originally just wrote it in lines of four syllables each, but decided at the last moment to lay it out like a game of Solitaire. Hopefully when you read it there will be a four-syllable cadence to it still.

I really didn't think I'd make it all the way through the challenges, but here I am sitting pretty on 30/30 - a poem a day for 30 days. I refreshed my memory on the rules of Haiku and Cinquain, learned about the Pantoum, Than Bauk, Etheree and Conceit, and experimented with Concrete poetry. Thank you, murisopsis, for The List, for encouraging me to try new things and for tricking me into posting every day in April. It's been fun and educational.

Okay, this poem requires some explaining before you read it and think I’ve gone off the deep end. I was drawing a blank on the subject of conceit (Prompt #29 for the NPM Scavenger Hunt), so I did my usual first step toward inspiration and Googled. That’s when I discovered that “conceit” is a form of poetry that involves a metaphor carried to a bit of an extreme. Here’s a link to the Wikipedia article: LINK  So I now had my inspiration, but what subject and what metaphor to use? I decided to go all out and write a love poem using a ship at sea for the metaphor. I then Googled parts of a ship and got my info from this site: LINK

I had great fun writing this poem, which is a spoof of a conceit.

Like curling waves my true love’s hair
Caresses lofty brow
His eyes are stormy ocean depths
His nose a noble prow
His sturdy shoulders like a keel
Are strong and wide and true
His manly legs like tall mainmast
Are straight with mighty thews
Though in the stern and spanker sail
A wind gust may occur
When bowsprit turns to flying jib
He makes the cathead purr

seed
soil soft
shoot sprouting
springing skyward
silently spreading
stretching, seeking sunlight
savoring sweet spring showers
stalk strengthening, stamen swelling
stimulating scent saturating
stipular stem soars stratospherically

I thought it would be fun to try an etheree for today's NPM Scavenger Hunt post. An etheree is a ten line poem that starts with one syllable on the first line and adds a syllable to each line. To make it more challenging, I decided to have each word start with the same letter. I guess that would make this an alliterative etheree. It was a fun exercise, almost making me glad I couldn't find the poem I wrote 30-s0me-odd years ago titled "Growth" to use today. It was about a beautiful tree that grew on a pile of garbage, fighting the elements and winning. All very symbolic and I wish I could remember it, but it was a long poem. I do remember one section where the tree was battling the wind.

So now the wind took up the fight
It issued forth in growing might
From zephyr sweet to mistral chill
To raging gale it grew until
It howled in anger at the tree
Which bent and bowed in mockery
And sent its leaves to entertain
With merry dance the hurricane

I suppose that section comes to mind because the wind has been howling here since yesterday afternoon, rattling the windows and making the wind chimes dance.

So far I have managed to keep pace with the poetry scavenger hunt. When I first looked at the list of topics, I thought I'd never be able to wax poetic about most of them. Look at me now; day 28 and I haven't missed a poem. Not to mention the fact that I've blogged every day this month so far. Poem #29 is written and I am quite happy with it. Only one more to write and the challenge will be completed.

This poem should be read (or sung) to the tune of Tumbling Tumbleweeds. I'm sure most of you are too young to remember Roy Rogers and Sons of the Pioneers, so here's a little video to help you out. I couldn't get it to embed, so just open the link and start the video. It should open in a new tab so you can switch back to this post and read while the song is playing. Don't start reading the poem until after the annoying ad.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQc5gDXQGIs

See them rolling on the floor
Heading for the kitchen door
Sweep, but there’s always more
Drifting along with the dog hair tumbleweeds

Under the tables and chairs
Dancing in each puff of air
Rolling along without care
Drifting along with the dog hair tumbleweeds

Fill the dustpan and you get
Enough to build another pet

They keep rolling along
It’s just so doggoned wrong
In my house they don’t belong
Drifting along with the dog hair tumbleweeds

[Whistling interlude]

Fill the dustpan and you get
Enough to build another pet

They keep rolling along
It’s just so doggoned wrong
In my house they don’t belong
Drifting along with the dog hair tumbleweeds

For all his fuzziness, Boo doesn't shed much. Mostly, he gets his tail snagged on various things and we find long tail hair tumbleweeds rolling around on the floor. It's weird how dog hair is attracted to more dog hair. Before Boo, we had a husky/German shepherd named Tia. She dropped hair constantly. Tia died in 2006 and eight years later we occasionally still find clumps of husky dog hair when we pull out a rarely moved appliance or piece furniture like the washing machine or one of the kitchen cabinets. Her ashes are spread in the backyard, but Tia tumbleweeds still drift through the house like a ghostly reminder of a dog gone long ago.

Krysten & Tia 2002

This is today's entry in the NPM Scavenger Hunt hosted by murisopsis using prompt #27 Dog Hair.

Oil that is spilled in the sea
Changed by dispersants can be
Miselles form a lump
Causing oil to clump
So picking it up is easy

Another oil alteration
Is bioremediation
Bacteria eat
The oil as a treat
A molecular satiation

An oily mess in a pot
Will break down with heat and salt
But the quickest solution
For oil ablution
Is dish soap and water hot

Today's NPM Scavenger Hunt topic is #26 Oil Changes. I wrote an educational poem about what can create a molecular change in oil, and for some reason, the only form that would work for such a serious subject was the limerick. In my usual ten minutes of deep research on Google, I found that scientists have only recently discovered that glycerin, a common ingredient in soap, is useful in cleaning up oil spills. If any of them had ever cleaned the kitchen at home, they would have known that soap and hot water are the easiest way to break up oil to clean a greasy pot.

I am about to jump in the shower, wash my hair, get dressed and be at the tai chi studio in time for World Tai Chi Day which is at 10 AM in whatever time zone you are in today. We will do tai chi for about an hour, and then I'll come home to let Boo outside before meeting a friend to introduce him to the joys of geocaching.

Bookmark61 and joyouswind are at ComiCon in Chicago today. Actually, it's called Chicago Comic & Entertainment Expo, or C2E2. ComiCon is easier to say.

I hope your Saturday is fun and oil-free.

When winter snow enshrouds with blanket cold
And icy puddles trip unwary feet,
The huddled sheep grow fat with fluffy wool.

Across the snowy meadow, dainty feet
Pick icy pathways, marked with wispy wool,
To sheltered hollows safe from mistral cold.

No shepherd, I but gather up the wool
So generously left on pathways cold
By God, providing warmth for frozen feet.

In woolen socks my feet no longer cold.

A couple of years ago, a friend gave me a pair of Smart Wool socks for Christmas. They were so warm; I loved them until the day I accidentally put them in the dryer and they shrank and got itchy. Last year, the same friend gave me another pair of Smart Wool socks for Christmas. These were thicker and warmer than the last pair and I loved them so much, I went out a few weeks after Christmas and bought another pair. For a while, I was wearing a pair of my wool socks every day. I would wash them in the bathroom sink at night and hang them up to dry. I'd wear the other pair the next day, while the first pair was still drying. Finally, I got a third pair. It's rare that I don't do at least one load of laundry every two or three days. Having three pairs of wool socks meant I usually had at least one clean pair when something - anything - was ready to go into the washing machine. I washed wool socks with towels, dark clothes, light clothes, sheets, underwear... There was always at least one pair of wool socks hanging on our drying bar. We had one of the longest, coldest, snowiest winters on record, but my feet stayed warm and dry in my Smart Wool socks. They are expensive, but worth the cost, and they make fabulous Christmas gifts for friends and relatives in cold climates.

The poem is a Tritina, which is apparently half of a Sestina. I got the rules from Murisopsis's site; I hope I did it right. This is for the NPM Scavenger Hunt using prompt #25 Wool Socks.

A gulp, a crunch
Inhale, munching
No lunch for you
Never chewing
My Boo doggy
Your waggy tail
Sadly drooping
Ravening beast
Craving kibble
In your gullet
You drool and whine
It’s not time yet
To dine again

Murisopsis and I spent last Friday geocaching in Indiana and Illinois. During the course of conversation, Val mentioned the Than Bauk form of poetry and challenged me to try it. She promised she would post a Than Bauk poem so I could see it laid out because just hearing the rules made it sound really confusing. I found that once started, it was a lot of fun to write and I had a hard time ending it because I was enjoying it so much. The rules go something like this:

There are 3 lines per stanza, and four syllables per line. The last syllable of line 1 rhymes with the 3rd syllable of line 2 and the 2nd syllable of line 3. The 3rd line of one stanza is also the first line of the next stanza, so in stanza 2, the last syllable of line 3 rhymes with the 3rd syllable of line 4 and the 2nd syllable of line 5. For stanza 3, the last syllable of line 5, rhymes with the 3rd syllable of line 6, and the 2nd syllable of line 7. And so forth. And that is why I wanted to see one written out!

I wrote this right after feeding Boo. He wolfs down his food so quickly, he usually beats me back to the living room because I put the kibble scoop back in the kibble bin before going back to whatever I was doing before Boo jumped on my lap and started whining at the stroke of 6:30.

This is for the NPM Scavenger Hunt using prompt #24 Kibble.

I do not wish to contend
Through briars, brambles and thorns
Which rip my clothes, pierce my skin,
And leave me bleeding and torn.

Sad how they died, those brambles;
Violently slashed in a rage.
And who left them in shambles?
Like… nolo contendere.

It may or may not have been me; I'm not saying. I'll take the blame. No need to keep looking... nothing more to see here... move along.

(NPM Scavenger Hunt prompt #23" I do not wish to contend")

Stiff of neck, heart hard,
Temper always at a boil;
She was a bad egg.

I went back and forth whether to start the last line with "She" or "He." I've known bad eggs of both genders during the years I've been on xanga. They probably weren't completely bad people; they seemed to have some friends, at least on the internet, so there must have been some pleasant aspect to their personalities, but in most cases I didn't see anything likable about them. That's particularly sad, because I try to like people; I look for likable traits in people. I always took comfort in the thought that the internet often brings out the worst in people and those hard boiled eggs were probably normal, somewhat likable folks when they were away from their computers. Maybe a little cracked...

I'm not naming my xanga hard boiled eggs, but I won't stop any of you from naming names in the comments.

The poem is for NPM Scavenger Hunt prompt #22 Hard Boiled Eggs.

Solanum Lycopersicum
Seems a silly name
For the fruit of a plant
In the nightshade family

Love apple
Seems a sinister name
For a fruit once thought
To be deadly

Tommy Toes
Seems an unappetizing name
For a fruit on the salad
I am about to eat

Call it a tomato
Or even a tomahto
Either way
It’s a saucy fruit

I love fresh from the garden tomatoes, no matter what you call them. Sliced and lightly salted, tomatoes are the taste of summer. You remember summer... that mythical season of warmth and sunshine your grandparents told you about. Ha! How quickly we (I) forget our (my) bitter complaining about the excessive heat last summer.

This is my entry for today in the NPM Scavenger Hunt using prompt #21 Tomatoes. The photo is courtesy of Wikipedia.