Frigid and rigid are so much the same
Perhaps a Wisconsite came up with the name
When walking out in winter, his best girl on his arm
He wanted to impress, and show off his charm
By weaving his words into poetry and verse
(He prayed his words didn’t sound too rehearsed)
For he knew of his lady’s preference for pretty things
Like flowers and chocolates and shiny gold rings.
He was a poor man and had little to offer
His clothes were worn and as for his coffer
It was empty until he could find a girl to wed
Haul in her fortune and get her to bed.
So knowing her love for beautiful words
He crafted a poem about winter’s bright birds
Including a nod to earth’s frozen snooze
Even metaphors about rigid trees’ skeletal views
But the cold had frozen his nose and his toes
And his brain told him it was too chilly for prose
With no other option than to keep it short
He stumbled upon a less witty retort
He prayed she’d laugh and pointed to the trees,
Rubbed his hands for warmth, and hoped she could see
He meant no harm when he called frozen nature fookin’ rigid
But, alas, our poor hero only stammered, “f-f-f-frigid.”
(C) Sara Ackerman, 2018
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I like ice cream.
If I had been born a hundred or so years ago, I’d have had to churn my own.
Given the intensity of my regard for ice cream, I could see myself making it often.
Said frequency would have resulted in some impressive upper arm strength, i.e. I would have been ripped.
Today’s ice cream is easier and cheaper to buy than to make.
However, homemade ice cream requires physical effort resulting in firm arms.
Ergo, I have to eat ice cream to stay in shape.
Sometimes I love how my brain works.
Every time I think about
eXiting my house to
Plod down a
Long, unknown road
On to great adventure
Raging rashes from the stress of packing
Erupt, so I stay home.
A lazy day excerpt from my second book, Silence is Golden. Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Wild Rose Press and others. Alfred and Evie’s love story is still by far my most favorite.
He was waiting for her on the sand. She sat beside him, and the two watched as the sun rose from the ocean, shining like a fireball on the distant horizon. It gilded the sea with fingers of gold and silver and caught the vibrant hues of her short, curly hair until she
seemed to glow like a beacon of light. She was beautiful. With eyes closed, she faced the morning sun, her head tilted back to better enjoy the warmth. Fragments of color sparkled off the water droplets clinging to her bared legs, dazzling him with a rainbow of color. She smiled, and his heart did a funny little beat in his chest. It was the first smile he had seen in two months.
He had been wrong. She wasn’t gone, nor had she ever left him. Like a butterfly, she had transformed and emerged stronger and more beautiful for the trials she had faced. These past months had changed him, too. Doubts about the success of their marriage no longer assailed him. He knew they could face whatever life threw at them, for they had already walked through the fire and emerged victorious, scarred and battered but together.
Her notebook hung from her skirt pocket, and he pulled it out. Opening to a clean page, he wrote. He tapped her on the knee, and she turned, a familiar sparkle lighting her face. He tapped her knee again, and she took the notebook to read the three words he had
written. Tears came to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, each drop glistening like diamonds in the early morning sun. He wiped them away, and she grasped his
hand, holding it there.
“I love you, too,” she said.
Silver Tongued Temptress concludes the Westby Sisters’ Trilogy and will be released later in 2018. Cover reveal coming soon!
(C) Sara Ackerman, 2018