Your prompt word this week is
MAGIC
When I think of this word, I get a tingling in my fingers. But I’m no witch with magical powers. I think of the word as relating to something special, something wonderful. We also use to describe something working effectively and, of course, there’s the Magic Kingdom Theme Park! What does this week’s word mean to you?
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt MOOD.
Rude Mood
Some moods are rude. They block the way
of praise and joy. They trash your day.
There’s more to tell, but I’ll just say
why take offense? Live free.
Many Me’s
If I should have to paint a picture of my present mood,
I’d be walking down a staircase, unfortunately nude—
My many selves preceding me and coming fast behind—
for there would be not one of me, but many of my kind.
This scene is a mere copy of Duchamp’s solution to
a person who perhaps has found she has too much to do.
My list of tasks is growing, though I’ve dealt with one or two;
but how I’ll deal with everything, I fear I have no clue.
And so I guess my canvas style would simply have to be
like Marcel’s (though not cubist, still with more than one of me.)
That way I’d send off each of me to do what must be done.
They’d do all my labor while I went to have some fun.
While self 1 wrote my daily prompt and self 2 cleaned my shelves,
I’d go out to the water park with all my other selves.
We’d climb up all the ladders and slide down all the slides
and play a game of tug-rope where I would be both sides!
We’d go out to the ice cream place and have a cone or three
and they’d get all the calories with none assigned to me!
We’d take my bad dogs for a walk and I would be so free.
Two other me’s would hold the leashes, not the actual me.
I’d loll here in my hot tub, swing in my hammock, too,
while selves from 1 to 9 would do all that I have to do.
They’d figure out my airfryer instructions (all in Spanish.)
They’d sort out all my photographs and clean my loo with Vanish.
Agreeable to every task, they’d never mention “can’t.”
They’ll pick off all the yellow leaves from every drying plant.
They’ll organize my studio that is a horrid mess.
(It’s been that way for many months—a fact I must confess.)
They’d sort out all my closets and organize my drawers,
then go into my Filofax and sort out all the bores.
They’d shape my canned goods into rows—sorted from “A” to “Z.”
which makes it difficult for them, but easier for me.
And though my other selves keep warm from their activity,
my idleness seems not to create any warmth for me.
So although I like my colors and my brush strokes strong and bold,
I wish I’d put some clothes on us, ‘cause I am getting cold!!
The rich dark drink that protects us from our dark side
There’s something about a brewed coffee bean
That’s essential to our daily routine.
The rich dark elixir
Is a proven mood fixer….
It delivers much needed caffeine!
Susan Batten:
The front door slammed. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stair. She shrank back, protecting herself with inadequate bedclothes, fumbling for the light. If he didn’t want it on, he’d probably rip it out of the socket and might hurl it across the room. It had happened. There was nowhere to go. In her nightdress she felt exposed, vulnerable. If only he didn’t wake the kids. She really wished she was elsewhere, when he was in a mood.
Jason was driving too fast and knew it. Sure enough he was pulled over. Rolling his window down he heard, “License and registration please.”
“I’m not in the mood,” was Jason’s reply.
“I’ve been itching to test my new taser. You in the mood for that?”
“Here’s the stuff.”
“Nice mood swing.”
A mood can change
like weather over the sea.
One moment sunlight
spilling across the water,
the next
clouds gathering quietly
at the edge of thought.
Sometimes a mood is laughter
shared across a table.
Sometimes it is silence
sitting beside you
like an old friend.
It drifts through the day
unseen but felt —
in music,
in memory,
in the way the wind moves the trees.
And just like the tide,
it comes,
it goes,
leaving small reflections
of who we were
in that moment.
Cud They Could
Animals on the farm
When ready for food
The dogs, they barked
The cows, they MOOD!
Alphabet of Moods
A is for Angry, when tempers flare bright.
B is for Brave, standing strong in a fight.
C is for Calm, like the sea late at night.
D is for Dreamy, thoughts floating in flight.
E is for Excited, full of delight.
F is for Fearful, hiding from fright.
G is for Grateful, heart warm and light.
H is for Hopeful, seeing good in sight.
I is for Inspired, ideas ignite.
J is for Joyful, smiling so wide.
K is for Kind, with love as a guide.
L is for Lonely, with no one beside.
M is for Merry, laughter inside.
N is for Nervous, butterflies tied.
O is for Optimistic, bright like the tide.
P is for Peaceful, worries set aside.
Q is for Quiet, soft as a breeze.
R is for Relaxed, mind at ease.
S is for Sad, with tears if you please.
T is for Thankful, grateful for these.
U is for Upset, clouds in the mind.
V is for Valiant, strong and kind.
W is for Worried, answers to find.
X is for Xenial, friendly and kind.
Y is for Yearning, hopes intertwined.
Z is for Zany, silly and wild—
All the moods that live in a child.
A Good Mood
Yesterday, I had a meeting with my support coordinator and the behavior specialist who’s filling in while my home’s regular one is on maternity leave. As regular readers of my blog might know, we’re in the process of designing a new, activity-based day schedule for me. Initially, the draft didn’t appeal to me, because for one thing I’d wanted it to include time for me to have a cup of tea in the living room later in the evening. As those who’ve followed me for a long while will know, I introduced this cup of tea last summer and it helped me through a dark period. Of course, I’ve mentioned more than once that if a cup of tea is the only thing to lift my mood during a day or even week, that’s not really all that good. I mean, yes, it signifies that I’m not majorly depressed, but it isn’t particularly a sign of good quality of life.
My support coordinator yesterday told the behavior specialist about my daily positives and negatives, which I’ve been sending out to her and my assigned staff on a weekly basis. She mentioned that my positives usually include activities that have meaning for me, such as crafting, cooking, baking or the like. My negatives usually involve situations in which the staff don’t adequately support me based on my needs of that moment, such as when they place too much responsibility on me.
Yesterday, I for the first time in a while had a day in which I didn’t see any negatives. When I wrote in the Gratitude app in the evening, I even rated my mood as “good”. Not “great”, but I don’t expect to feel great. I usually rate my daily moods as “okay” at best.
I listed several positives yesterday too. One was my having made another batch of homemade granola. This takes only about half an hour total, but it significantly lifts my mood to make it.
Similarly, on Monday, we had twenty minutes left of my long activity time slot in the afternoon after having gone on a walk and having had coffee at the institution townhouse. My staff initially proposed we play a dice game, but I suggested we try making a simple bracelet. My staff questioned whether we’d have enough time to finish this, but I challenged her by saying we could at least try. Usually, I’m the one suffering from inertia because I fear we cannot finish an activity within my allocated time slot. That’s one reason I proposed doing a more activity-based day schedule, of course including approximate times for the activities. Anyway, guess what? We finished the bracelet on time!
Today, if nothing major happens to diminish my mood, I’ll also have a day with no negatives. This morning, I started off by feeling a bit stuck by fear of there not being time for an activity. Thankfully, I pulled myself through it and guess what? I made not just the one thing out of polymer clay I’d wanted to make, a rolling dice for a staff who’s leaving and with whom I used to play dice all the time. I also started on a project for a staff who’s just become a father. Of course, since the dice had to be painted, I didn’t finish it right then, but I did in the afternoon, just on time for the staff’s goodbye.
My support coordinator is definitely right that meaningful activities are what help me get in a good mood. Isn’t that normal though?
Here are some of the ways that I have been told I am not in the mood and some additional funny ones that I found online.
- “Not tonight, I am not in the mood”
- “No I just got out of the shower”
- “No, I need to take a shower”
- “What do you think this is, your birthday?”
- “The mood called. It got stuck in traffic and won’t be arriving tonight.”
- “My mood is currently on strike. Negotiations are ongoing.”
- “Not tonight, I am too tired”
- “Not tonight, I am too upset with my coworkers”
- “Can we just watch TV and eat some ice cream”
- “No”
- “Talk to the hand”
- “I’m in a ‘Netflix and actually just Netflix’ mood.”
- “The mood is currently buffering. Please try again never.”
- “My mood is out of office with an indefinite return date.”
- “The mood got lost, and my GPS is broken. Tragic.”
- “I’m in a ‘do not disturb unless you’re pizza’ mood.”
- “My mood is on airplane mode, Leave a message after the beep.”
Tomorrow’s Today
Let’s hope
the sanes rebel
and doors reopen wide
and glum moods lift, and love returns
at last!
At least
it looks like suns might still come up
(and brotherhood survive)
if we just try.
Let’s try.
Don’t let my words be misconstrued
But you’re a girl and I’m a dude
And here we have an interlude
Forgive me then if I intrude
Don’t think me bad. Don’t think me rude
When I suggest we both get nude
Don’t be shy, don’t be a prude
Can’t you tell I’m in the mood???
Attitude Shift
I am in the mood for spring
I am not looking forward to a few more
Freezing days towards the end of the week.
The dwarf Iris are blooming,
Daffodil spears are at least a hand high
Even Hyacinths are breaking ground.
I’ve been weeding for a few hours
Every day for the last three days now –
And even transplanted some Forsythia cuttings.
I’ve put on my rainboots so I could clear debris
From the gully – trash, a brick and fallen limbs –
And have watched the wrens take over a birdhouse.
I am in the mood for a vacation –
Our March plans have moved to mid April.
We’ll be driving south, taking our time.
We’ll meet up with some old friends
And maybe family if they are home…
And we’ll just enjoy being together.
We’ll hopefully find some shaded paths
To walk while we hold hands –
And I’ll photograph nature along the way.
Once we are home we’ll continue
To move at a leisurely pace –
So as to not be ‘tired’ in our retirement!
Mood Rings
Remember these?
I treated myself to one years ago and still have it.
It doesn’t fit now, not even my pinkie, and in the jewelry box it remains as dark as the days I wore it.
I wonder now if I fitted into the boundaries of being ‘Bi Polar’ as there was never any middle level to my mood, I was either happy or… not. However, the not days were few, but when I was on a downer, oh dear. Keep out of my way. Not that I was angry, just didn’t want company and needed to be left alone.
I think the ring turned blue once, and that was probably because I forgot to take it off when I was doing the washing up.
Mood Hijack
Mood is a drunk roommate,
stumbling through my brain at 2 AM,
rearranging my thoughts
like furniture in a haunted Airbnb.
Today’s mood is ultraviolet,
invisible, yes, but it burns
and makes my coffee taste like ash.
I think it’s laughing.
Mood cat-burglarized my optimism
and left sarcasm on the kitchen counter.
It RSVP’d to the party,
forgot to tell my face,
and now my mirror refuses eye contact.
Mood folds time like origami,
turning Monday into Thursday
and my socks into paper cranes.
It moonlights as a villain
in everyone else’s stories,
stealing three puzzle pieces
from my weekend.
Mood is a ghost, writing memoirs in my dreams,
a rogue AI hacking decisions in real time,
a trapeze artist swinging
through the circus of my spine.
Mood is a nightclub bouncer,
some thoughts get in,
others wait outside,
shivering in regret
and nostalgia’s sticky coat.
Mood is a cocktail – stirred, shaken, garnished with irony,
served in a glass of cosmic confusion.
And yet, I can’t help but sip,
smile, and wave
as it folds my plans into origami birds
and flies off laughing
into the ultraviolet night.
Moody Meditation
It’s absolutely baffling how much we’re controlled by our mood.
How in every situation they relentlessly intrude.
When our mood is bright then life is good the sun shines brighter in the sky.
When our mood turns dark then all light fades away, we walk shrouded in emotional night.
When silliness reigns then life is a dance, a song, which rings in our soul.
When anger invades, then life is a war, a battle where rage takes control.
We have a choice to lead or be led
Which of our moods by us will be fed
We are our heart’s master, though we may feel like its slave
Though our moods motivate
Compel us to behave
In ways so irrational, goofy or rude
It is a reason, but not an excuse
Moods can be magical
Moods can be gifts
But once again I must firmly insist
Our moods may compel us,
Speak straight to our core
But only we choose to open the door.
One Day
one day, i’ll stop missing you—
my lungs will finally learn
a different kind of air.
not the kind that changes
with your moods,
not the kind that waits
for the weather of your heart
to decide if it’s safe to breathe.
and when that day arrives,
i think i’ll thank you—
for teaching me the quiet truth
i tried so hard not to see:
that i was never a home to you,
only a door you kept half-open,
something to return to
when the mood was right.
and maybe that lesson
will be the reason
i finally choose air
that doesn’t depend
on someone else’s sky.
Tony:
The night spreads over the city its deep and serious cloak, and man walks under this immense sky like a fragile witness of the inner turmoil that inhabits it. In the human heart sometimes rises a dark Mood, similar to a winter wind that crosses the plains of the soul and makes the oldest certainties tremble.
Yet, in the very shadow, something watches. A stubborn glow, a secret dignity. For man, even overwhelmed by his Mood, remains the bearer of an invisible greatness, like those cathedrals that seem to sleep in the rain but whose stones remember the sun.
And when the dawn finally dawns, slow and solemn, the human soul, shaken by its storms, finds a Mood vaster, almost fraternal, as if the light gently reminds each one that he belongs to the whole world.
Stormy Weather
Furious, she slammed the chalet door behind her. Storm clouds rolling overhead echoed her mood.
She didn’t want to go to a freaking barn dance. Her new friends would be meeting up in the clubhouse again this evening, and that cow, Sherryn, would be all over Nathan.
She was well old enough to look after herself, but Dad insisted she had to go with them to this crappy barn dance in the village.
The clouds had darkened, casting gloom over the holiday park.
But she wasn’t going back in there with them. Her holiday was ruined; Sherryn would have her claws locked into Nathan for the rest of the week.
Large drops of rain began to fall.
The few holidaymakers crossing the park hurried faster. One was heading her way. There was something vaguely familiar about him as he knocked on the door of their chalet.
Mum opened it. “Hello Neil. Come in.”
“I won’t stop. Sue thought you might like to come with us in the campervan to this barn dance. There’s no point us taking two cars, and I can’t drink anyway while I’m on these meds.
Dad appeared at the door. “That’s very decent of you, mate. You sure there’s room for all of us?”
“No problem. There’s only us two and our Nathan going.”
Suddenly the clouds parted and the sun emerged.
There’s still hope in the shadows
With our trials and tribulation
Opening lines and our life in prose
The cross we bear and our frustration
The spark of hope, magic in the air
With our trials and tribulation
We’ll get through it, fair and square
Challenges we have but we can cope
The spark of hope, magic in the air
Birds tweet, clear sky, don’t mope
Hard work, tribulation, holy water
Challenges we have but we can cope
Sometimes we wish it could be hotter
On a cloudy day, a languid mood
Hard work, tribulation, holy water
It all depends on our attitude
There’s still hope in the shadows
On a cloudy day, a languid mood
Opening lines and our life in prose
I really don’t want to intrude
But I’m having a questionable mood
I want to write long
And then sing a song
In the end I think I’ll eat food.
***
If I write something long I’ll get booed
If I write something short I’ll eat food
So I hem and haw and fiddle
Try to find something right in the middle
And hope this will change my mood
Speaking of mood, my favorite song to dance to is “In the Mood”. I used to drag my husband from his group of men, (women didn’t know anything about the world of course) at parties and we would jitterbug. I probably lost a few of you with that. However, today I am in the no WiFi or electricity mood because the wind here is ruining everything with gusts of 100 mph and regular 50-70 that is going on for days.
The Elephant Tree
Deep in the woods where moss likes to brood, Lives an elephant spirit in an inquisitive mood, He moved into a tree with a creak and a thump, Polishing the bark with his very long trunk
The bark wore its wrinkles like the elephant's skin, Where squirrels keep their nuts in the folds within, The fox said, 'Sir, you're terribly tall,' He replied, 'I'm not tall - I'm just a tree after all.' The mushrooms all giggled and jostled with glee, 'For elephants rarely grow leaves on their knee,' He rustled the branches and wriggled a root, Then practised a dignified woodland salute. So if you hear a trumpeting while out in the wood, It might be an elephant up to no good!
Muses
spring’s contended cool
the mood of liquid stars distilled;
trees blossoming muses
Lou by the Sea:
Three moods
Three moods were sitting in the shelter, waiting for a bus. Happy, Angry and Anxious.
“Isnt it a truly beautiful sunny day! Look how the dandelions smile at you and the daisies are winking,”said Happy.
“I hate the sun,” said Angry. “It makes me hot and red in the face.”
You’d look like that in a snow storm, thought Happy.
“Is the bus late? When is it coming? What time is it? I can’t be late,” said Anxiety, tapping their foot against the glass of the bus shelter and biting their nails.
“Stop smashing your foot into the glass,” said Angry “And gnawing your hands away.”
“I’m sure it’ll be along soon. Cheer up, it might never happen. Don’t worry, be happy.”
“Oh do shut up you ridiculous idiot,” said Angry. “Just keep your high spirits to yourself will you!”
Happy smiled, blissfully unaware.
The bus pulled in and flung open its doors.
The bus driver, disguised as a parent, said “NO moods allowed on my bus!” The doors slammed closed, expelling the warm air from the bus into their faces. It smelled familiar – unwashed rugby kits, cheese and onion crisps, farts, sweaty trainers, pink bubble gum, all the signatures of the high school bus.
The moods knew then what they had to do.
They silently, in unison, glared at the bus driver, who obediently opened the doors again. They pulled their black hoodies over their heads, put their headphones into their ear sockets, kept their heads down, scrolling on their phones as they stepped up onto the bus. Now they were part of the silent bus tribe. The same. As one.
They maintained no eye contact with the driver, shrugged their shoulders and murmured
“Whatever” in unison.
“Welcome” said the driver. Take a seat.
Mood-s
Though I am not a mood-y person but when things don’t happen the way I have planned or wished I do get upset. Yesterday, I had planned a good summery lunch which did not turn out well. I analysed and re-analysed what had gone wrong and then chalked out another elaborate plan to redo the messed up meal and in doing so I over used the gas cylinder. Given the LPG Cylinder crisis in the country I wanted to expend fuel cautiously but in actuality I did the exact opposite. So I was cross with no one but my own self for a very long time.
Moods are fickle. They manifest in odd ways. My paternal aunt squarely blamed the Government if anything went wrong in her kitchen. A problem with the gas stove, cylinder needing a refill midway cooking, masalas getting burnt due to lack of attention, vegetables getting over cooked – none other than the State Chief was to be blamed. If the Chief Minister luckily escaped the slew of accusations, the responsibility of kitchen mismanagement and malfunctioning then fell straight on my poor uncle’s shoulders. After all she was cooking a five meal course for him on a working day getting late to the office. Punctuality was never my aunt’s strong point but nobody had the guts to tell her that.
In a better mood she would address uncle as Newton and make tea for him humming to herself. Uncle….? Newton….? Seriously….?
At first, I attributed aunt’s mood swings to hormones but it took me some time to realise that the couple thrived on such idiosyncratic exchanges.
My mother was a stickler for discipline and also known for her red hot temper. A series of clanging noise from the kitchen and we’d know something had triggered her royal rage. It’s the time when father would quietly advise me and my sister to be out of sight. A pure sane handling of a ‘delicate’ situation.
I once knew a temperamental artist, who in one of his fiend-ish moods, painted the sky red, the meadows blue, the trees purple, the sun white and the moon green. Once spent, he threw the vitiated canvas in the garbage pile from where his agent, used to his eccentricities, retrieved it.
At his next art exhibition, when he saw the cursed canvas up for public view, they had a massive showdown. But when the discordant painting was auctioned for a jaw dropping sum he fluffed up with self importance.
Mood can be notoriously tricky and playful – it can make or break relationships, it can ominously wreak havoc, it can even add a generous measure of comic relief to a day’s choc-o-bloc schedule.
I wonder in what mood did the Supremo order that devastative strike… ?
Maybe we’ll keep that topic for another post.
“ti-ti-ti teeeteeeteeee-ti ti ti”
call disrupts the peaceful mood
of the calm morning lake
tentrils of mist shredding
in shock at the raucous racket
spotted thick-knee charges
wings spread defensively
tail cocked aggressively
dancing towards me
a threatening bird warrior
he races towards my sandaled feet
ready to peck them to death
I move on hastely
not wishing to nurse bleeding toes
or disturb the breeding pair
Scrape, Sweep, Spy
Sable leans her broom and dust pan against the fence and crouches in front of the Route 6 bench with her scraper. She wonders how in a world where cameras can read a license plate from two blocks away, and the government can tell you what you had for dinner last night- somehow they never catch the moment a hand dips out of sight and presses a wad of chewed gum to the underside of a bench.
Maybe it’s because no one cares about the irritating habits of ordinary people. Nobody that is but her. Right this minute- all she knows for sure- is that cleaning up behind this disgusting habit does nothing to elevate her mood.
She’s probably the only one who ever sees it. The cameras above her don’t bother with angles this low, and the people who sit here never think about what’s beneath them. It’s just her, the gum, and the quiet hum of buses pulling in and out.
Her scraper catches on something that isn’t gum. The resistance is different- paper maybe? She pauses, frowning, and reaches under the bench with her gloved fingers. A folded square is taped to the bottom of the bench.
Before she frees it- she glances up at the camera dome. She knows its blind spots by heart, but it never hurts to be cautious.
She pulls the paper free and tucks it down the front of her shirt- thinking she’ll examine it more closely later- when she gets somewhere she knows nobody is watching.
She moves on to the next bench, broom in hand, trying to look as though nothing has changed. The routine helps- scrape, sweep, bag, repeat. But her attention keeps drifting back toward the Route 6 bench.
That’s when she notices him.
A man in a gray jacket, sitting stiffly, pretending to scroll through his phone. Every few seconds he glances down, then casually lets his hand drift toward the underside of the bench.
Each time his mission is unsuccessful- his posture tightens. His fingers sweep the underside of the bench again, slower this time, as if he thinks he must have missed it. When he still doesn’t find what he’s looking for, a flicker of panic crosses his face.
He tries once more, this time leaning forward as though tying his shoe, reaching farther under the bench. Nothing. His shoulders rise as he tries to disguise his frustration as a stretch.
She knows he is searching for the note she already took. And whatever message he expected to find, its absence has him rattled.
She stands there with her broom, heart ticking faster, realizing she has stepped into something- something that depends on blind spots, on timing, on trust.
Who knew taking a lowly groundskeeper position could land her smack in the middle of something that smelled suspiciously like espionage.
***
Esther Chilton 
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