one grumpy bunny

Why The Daily Show is only 'news' show worth watching

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 17:53:00 +0000

One Year

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 21:43:00 +0000

It's amazing what can happen in a year.

For me right now, after one year of intense work, it's a new life, with new love, and, well, new life. .. There are so many things yet to be enjoyed, and I would not have beleived it a year ago. Whatever kind of work you have before you, whatever kind of lessons, or sadness, or happiness, no matter... It's only a year, and a year, is just another year, we all have them, and they will continue to revisit long after we're tired of them... It won't mean a thing in a hundred years.

There are many gifts in your life. Here's to recognizing those gifts, and absorbing them, accepting them, and recognizing them, every day.

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 02:49:00 +0000

Indifference

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 00:18:00 +0000

The writing prompt is from 3WW
Ache
Difference
Suffer

The 'Poem':

At the stop light,
Waiting in line.
Is it today?
Or yesterday…
Tomorrow maybe, doesn’t matter.

The car in front
Flicks its cigarette onto the pavement.
Rolls up its window.
The rain picks up,
Smears my windshield.
It aches.

Is it today?
Or yesterday…
Tomorrow maybe, doesn’t matter.

It’s unintentional,
We’ve all tried.
But we’re ill-equipped
The blathering of self-talk,
Rings in the ears long after.
There’s no difference.

At some point you stop trying.
‘Cause everyone’ in it…

And you’re not.
Don’t worry, there’s no
Suffer-ing.
Only
In-Difference.
A fate,
Worse than…

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 17:58:00 +0000

The writing prompt is from 3WW
Effortless
Thrash
Vindictive

The 'Poem':

The phone is ringing.
Vindictive as it is.
Just when I least expect.
Always when I don’t want it.
Never when I do.
Seems quite effortless to me.
The way it always seems to know.
Thrash against it, as I might.
I never win.

anyone's life

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 17:44:00 +0000

You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die. A spider's life can't help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that.

Charlotte, "Charlotte's Web"
- E.B. White

The only 'political' coverage worth watching these days

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 14:58:00 +0000

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 23:39:00 +0000

Gambled

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 15:28:00 +0000

The writing prompt is from 3WW
Gamble
Omitted
Temporary

The 'Poem':
It’s the tire marks in the lawn,
From when you used to park here.
The granules of sugar on the counter,
Coffee grinds in the sink.
Omitted.
The rough of skin around the knuckles
And tiny pieces of silver wrapper,
Fallen from long-ago back pockets.
Temporary.
The afternoon text msg.
Or early morning.
The sound of breathing at night.
The smell of toothpaste and cologne.
Gloves and socks drying by the door.
Gambled.

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 01:37:00 +0000

Last night I saw old friends of my parents. The couple, well into their 80's, walked into the ballroom surrounded by a throng of admirers. The Mrs. waved to me from across the room. Her tiny frail hand. I walked up and said hello, and she took my hand in hers, and said, 'your mom and dad, we were kindred spirits.'

It was all I needed to hear. They died so long ago, I never hear their names anymore. It's as if they never existed. For her to say their names outloud, in front of co-workers, friends, brought them back to life, for however slight the moment. My admiration, stepped aside, and gratitude floated into everything. A lost generation.

wad

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 00:04:00 +0000

The writing prompt is from 3WW
History
Narrow
Spent

The 'Poem':

You spent your wad,
History would dictate.
Future’s looking even more,
Narrow.
Now.

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 01:31:00 +0000

Grace Light

This may not be for all of you. But, in the quest for inner peace, and thereby peace around you in the day to day, the above video may help.

Synopsis here:

Grace Light – July 17th – to be felt 11pm EST. (Keep in mind, this will not work for everyone.)

1. Sit down
2. light a candle
3. light an incense
4. glass of water with sea salt
5. be prayerful
6. close your eyes
7. visualize a light coming down
8. visualize an opening in the sky above where you are sitting

This will absorb the negative energy, to be in a place to receive this light. Your mind will stop. It will stop its nagging.

The opening is God coming through the opening to those who want to receive his light. A state of joy. You will feel the light, God.

Feel something profound has happened to you.

What is important: after July 17th, day after day you will find changes; the way your brain functions, your body functions, how you relate to the world. Happiness you have never experienced before. That is what Grace’s light will do.

Why now? Because God has made a decision to bail us out from suffering. No one else can do this. No government. They are all using human solutions, those are not helpful.

....

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 00:36:00 +0000

The writing prompt is from 3WW
Inappropriate
Order
Shortcut

The 'Poem':

expectations, a poem

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 01:39:00 +0000

Wrote this one myself, no writing prompt and all:

Wait.
You’re not what I remember.
Why’d you do that?
That way…

It’s not what I expected.
It’s not,
What you normally do.

But, then again…
You’re not you.
Are you?

You’re me.
Or, my set,
Of expectations.

Memories, really.

Must be tough.
Competing.
Like you do.
Although.

You don’t really know,
Either way.
Do, you.

It’s just me,
Here,
Again.

Watching, you.
Without even knowing.
Wanting,
something else.

Pour

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 01:35:00 +0000

The writing prompt is from 3WW
Indifferent
Pour
Reason

The 'Poem':

It’s easier to grow indifferent,
With each pour.
Beyond reason.

Someday

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 23:18:00 +0000

The writing prompt is from 3WW
Frequent
Open
Someday

The 'Poem':

He stops in here frequently,
the wired rims of his glasses,
bent a different way today,
then yesterday.

The big guy behind the counter,
serves a serious cup of joe.
Either one could be your next,
best friend.

But they're not.

I used to like to think,
I was open.
But whom am I kidding.

Everywhere I am,
I wish I were somewhere else.
Someday.

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Thu, 29 May 2008 01:29:00 +0000

The writing prompt is from 3WW
Blurred
Illegal
Match

The 'Poem':
I’m trying to come up with words,
Here.
People.
People. Work with me,
Here.
But,
I'll admit, they’re blurred.
And cleary, don’t match.
This 3WW contribution,
Should be illegal.

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Wed, 28 May 2008 01:42:00 +0000

Well.

I knew.

You've not heard? It's the newest thing,
not to care.

I've been working on it,
for,
some time now.

I believe there's been,
momentum gained.

And, grateful,
for that.

Look, forward.
Not, back.

Back?
I haven't looked, back.
Since, then.

Me, neither.

Good.

Good.

So. How are you?

Fine.

Me, too.

Good.

Good.

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Sat, 24 May 2008 15:00:00 +0000

The writing prompt is from 3WW
Delayed
Edge
Focus

The lilacs are out.
Again.
The bumble bees,
Drunk with pollen,
Bump into my windows.
It’s delayed.
Thud.
There goes another one.
Their bellies full.
Their flight heavy.
I imagine they lose focus.
Lose their edge.
The lilacs are out,
Again.

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Sat, 24 May 2008 14:10:00 +0000

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Thu, 22 May 2008 18:18:00 +0000

From Today's Writer's Almanac

Fireflies
by Richard Newman

Tonight my yard is full of fireflies—
a glitterfest of green, blinking by hundreds,
exactly like last year, when she and I
drove out into the Missouri countryside
to talk about our marriage. It was thick
with greenery. The air was hot and thick,
and we had decided to try and stay together,
though by first light she'd changed her mind again,
and, to be honest, our eleventh hour
hope and promise lacked the weight of truth.
We wandered off the rocky dirt road
over weeds and brambles, through branches
and spiderwebs, and pressed into a clearing,
and it was like a pocket in the darkness
that surrounded us-the misty night
backlit with thousands of glittering fireflies
bettering the stars. It was a mating dance,
and we gazed into a sputtering green sea
of desire-such irresistible beckoning.
Ours was, too-a death-dance of mating,
a slower, indecisive tarantella,
and she asked me never to write about this,
but I knew then that I had nothing to lose,
that at that moment there was nothing I wanted
more than to write about the fireflies.

""Fireflies" by Richard Newman from Borrowed Towns. © Word Press.

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Thu, 15 May 2008 21:11:00 +0000

This week's writing prompt is from 3WW
Average
Neck
Scratch

The Poem:
The whole thing was pre-planned.
An itch that needed to be scratched.
The fact that you will always love me, means nothing.
It won’t hold my hand, or sit next to me, or kiss my neck.
It ‘s lazy, really. Average.
Thanks, but I can do without.

another poetry-foray

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 14:32:00 +0000

This week's writing prompt is from 3WW

The words:
Empty
Highway
Ignored

The Poem:

Should I do it?
Go on.
State the obvious.
We should have turned left.
But, got onto the highway instead.
There, I did it.
You said it.
How does it make you feel?
Now?
Yes.
Empty.
My saying it?
Or the highway?
Empty, that is.
Both.
Now you’ve gone and done it too.

poetry-feet

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 17:51:00 +0000

I've decided to rejoin the land of the living.
Whether I like it or not.
A good way to do this, is by putting one poetry-foot in front of the other.

This week's writing prompt is from 3WW

The words:
Picture
Reflected
Stop

The Poem:

Stop looking at that picture.
It’s not good for you.
Maybe you should start thinking.
Of the next picture.
That’s sure to be.
In a month, or a year.
Your reflection reflected.
Different, hopefully, than it is now.

noreply@blogger.com (Bun Bun) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 21:16:00 +0000

Honesty can free your soul.

Thank you, for being honest with me.

Thank you, for letting me be honest with you.