August is the birthday month, marking

The days when loved ones first arrived, mixing

The generations for a game, bringing

Us all together for a celebration.

Knowledge and memory, combining

Sports, arts, literature and the rest, requiring

Trivial things, really.

Jen surprised us, rolling the dice in her paws,

Oh how she cheats! We banned her,

And went on to play into the night,

And had another drink, and maybe a second dessert.

Hablo muy poco español.

And the youngest knew which snake it was,

When the question came. And the next said,

I know which president was on TV first. And they were right.

In the mountains, here we play.

It helps to read, much of the night, and remember it all.

#ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit

The hours S T R E T C H out

Without classes or commitments to give them shape

Almost uncountable,

Like the hot sand on a sunny beach

#ProseChallenge #Summer

Poetry (the verse kind) is gilded Rococo,

Relatively speaking,

Ornate and full of flourishes; while prose is Danish Modern:

Straightforward, seemingly simple, unadorned, but hardly prosaic.

Each has its place, but I favor PROSE.