PROMPT #157 – “BOLD FACE LIE”: GUEST HOST – LINDA HOFKE

This week we venture back across the big pond and are helped by a woman who contributes her poetry from Germany. I am pleased to say it’s Linda Hofke’s turn to share the spot light! Welcome Linda!

***

POET LINDA HOFKE

POET and PHOTOGRAPHER LINDA HOFKE

Linda Hofke, a native Pennsylvanian, lives in Germany where she writes, takes photographs and puts her lead foot to use on the Autobahn. You can find her work at Curio Poetry, Mirow, Bolts of Silk, Jellyfish Whispers, The Fib Review, The Poetic Pinup Revue, and other online and print journals. She’s a lazy blogger who posts sporadically at http://lind-guistics.blogspot.de/ and http://lindas-life-otos.blogspot.de/. She is currently busy working on writing a very silly picture book.

***

PROMPT #156 – “BOLD FACE LIE” – Think of some reasons we wouldn’t be totally truthful to someone. Choose one and write a poem debunking one of that reason.

WALT’S RATIONALE:

FOR YOUR PROTECTION

it
was
just a
little fib.
it was to save you
from getting hurt in the process.
protect me? my behind! i find
you are covering
your own ass.
no class!
fibs?
lies!

© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014

 

LINDA’S REASONING:

Though I don’t do it, women tend to lie about their age more than men. Some lie with words. Others lie through the use of skillfully-applied make-up, retouching photos, or even plastic surgery. However, age catches up with everyone eventually and none of these methods work anymore. I wrote a few lines on this, scratched and erased, added and deleted, and never achieved the right wording I wanted. Then I decided to let the child in me come out and have a bit of fun with this. I know it’s not journal quality writing but I hope you don’t mind. In keeping with the theme of aging, I’ve read that laughter helps keep us youthful and happy.  So this one is for your health.

 OLD-AGED

I can lie about my age
but age will give me away—
streaks of grey framing my face
and wrinkles on display.
 
My chin and breasts recite together
the law of gravity
while racing against the other
to reach my abdominal cavity.
 
My knees? They’re old and fussy,
with every step they crack
and they’ll probably crumble from
the eventual chin-and-boob attack.
 
If it all stretches down to my feet
I guess I’ll tuck it between toes
and roll myself into a ball,
chin to toes and feet to nose.
 
You might think I’m exaggerating
but you simply have no clue.
You could only understand  if you
were also one hundred-eighty two.

© Copyright Linda Evans Hofke – 2014

189 thoughts on “PROMPT #157 – “BOLD FACE LIE”: GUEST HOST – LINDA HOFKE

  1. Morning folks! Hilarious Walt and Linda! Thanks for the laughs. We all could use some chuckles. My grandmother just passed yesterday, so I appreciate the diversion. :)

    Benjamin

  2. THE LIE OF THE SPIN

    ignore or stare down
    the clock’s three hands
    Waving full circles
    while we spin
    obliviously like
    the vitruvian man
    plastered against the wheel

    we mourn those
    whose clocks stopped
    but lie how life goes on
    as if we survivors
    are immune to that death
    cruelly claiming others
    while we go on living

    we kid ourselves thinking
    our days are not numbered
    the mirror lies to us
    says we’re young as we feel
    Says the glint in our eye’s still there
    Says there’s snow on the rooftop
    but the furnace burns bright

    so we go on spinning
    breezing through a lifetime
    fooled by the clock’s slow hands
    flying by unscathed by truth
    then at the end we look back
    and all those lies return
    in an inescapable deathbed vertigo

    #

  3. Hey, Linda! Loved the poem. Clever. And enjoyed Walt’s too.

    Just a Minute

    I’ll be with you in a just minute.
    Go back to bed, I’ll soon be in it.
    Oh sure, Wifey, he must be thinking.
    I see that cup of tea you’re drinking.
    And your computer light’s still glowing.
    You’ll check your email, I am knowing.
    Next, you’ll peruse today’s Facebook feed
    and then eat a snack you think you’ll need.
    And while you’re at it, you’ll watch a show
    and you’ll wonder where the time will go.
    Just a minute, I don’t believe that’s true,
    three hours and a minute, if I know you.

  4. The prompt made me think of one of my favorite fellow residents, and the real struggle of whether to tell the truth or not. . .

    The Angel

    She holds her angel with newborn care
    Feeding her spoons of applesauce.
    The food dribbles down the baby’s chin.
    “Look. She has two new teeth.”
    Two perfectly shaped teeth
    Peek over the bottom lip.

    She knows I know Angel is a doll.
    But I tell her that’s okay.
    She needs something to cherish
    And protect and live for.
    Living flesh or plastic doesn’t matter

    Now others bring their babies too
    Meal time has become a nursery
    And she has changed her tune.
    “I know Angel is a doll.”
    She tucks the baby in a blanket.
    “I’m not stupid.”

    Only confused.

    Darlene Franklin ©2014

  5. Good morning, all. Happy Sunday to you. Linda, I was so happy to see you in the hotseat this week. I always enjoy your work. Walt, you and Linda have set us an interesting thought challenge today, too.

    And in that light, I challenged myself. I decided to risk rhyme (a nemesis of mine, as well as specific form that developed while I wrote today’s poem. I don’t know if someone else has used this form before or not. I haven’t looked into it, but here it is. Three cinquains followed by a tercet. Rhyme scheme of ababc, and no end rhymes in the tercet. I have no name for it. Hope you enjoy it.

    There’s Always Tomorrow

    Today begins with agenda filled
    with have-to’s and musts
    all lined up, threatening to spill
    over into midnight’s thrusts
    onto tomorrow’s threshold.

    Time flies from window’s sill
    to circle the sky’s limits for
    accomplishing more still,
    emergency tasks that bore
    down on my unexpectedly.

    Items pushed back to simmer
    on a stove boiling over with work
    inch forward, each a small glimmer
    of hope for one sitting in agenda’s murk,
    who know not enough hours exist,

    and at trail’s end of day
    there’s always tomorrow
    come what may.

    © Claudette J. Young 2014

  6. Heart, Capsulized

    you can change
    how fast you age
    with bleached white teeth

    and pumped up lips
    permanently painted
    hot pink or red

    how your
    skin appears
    with fake tans

    not to mention
    hair dyed to hide
    unwanted gray

    but there’s nothing,
    not a pill, that will
    ever change your
    thoughtless heart

  7. Hi Linda – great to have you on patrol.

    You ask, How do I like…
    Your new do? You look ten years younger (than your mother)
    Your new dress? What a bold color (where are my sun glasses)
    Those shorts? They are very nice (lose the knee socks, please)
    My birthday present? I’ve never had anything like it (it is definitely going in the yard sale)
    Your newborn grandchild? Beautiful (for a troll)

    Telling the whole truth is exhausting and dangerous, thank goodness for little half-truths.

    • Oh, Debi, you certainly hit many nails into the truth board with this one. And you’re right. I once heard an expert on the subject of lying (seriously.) He said that our society has grown into one which cannot tolerate the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That even when we are telling our version of the truth, we’re editing it for various reasons. I dare say he’s probably right.

      Terrific take on theme. Enjoyed it so much.

  8. Linda and Walt, thanks for your examples. Both of them broke me up. Walt, that little white fib is brilliant, and Linda, I’m still staggering from your punch line, to say nothing of “chin-and-boob attack.”

  9. INSTRUCTION IN DECEPTION

    It is
    simplicity
    itself to make a lie
    hold the gold of truth: just tell it
    often.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  10. Quite a start to this prompt, Walt and Linda! I am still laughing.
    Here’s mine:

    Cookie Queen

    You take such pleasure
    in baking
    chocolate chip
    cookies; how could I tell you
    they went down like lead?
    The only reason
    I’m telling
    you now, is because I broke
    a tooth the last time.

  11. I’m Sorry…

    But I only lied
    To keep the tears from starting
    In your perfect eyes.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014

    Not a haiku…but that other form that’s like it…can’t think of the name of it. :/

  12. Delightful unfolding blooms in morning’s rays of light today, as words display the truth about untruths. Linda and Walt, you led the way into this prompt so sincerely, sins eerily exposed as truths are posed as not what they really sometimes are.

  13. ON A BRIDGE
    “I could not live without you,”
    you had said.
    Right there, one summer day, your arms around me in warm wooded sultry shades of green.
    Then I was dead.
    Water passing days after, underneath, was slow,
    I saw many a leaf, dry floating little boats,
    go by, that dusty fall, twirling by upon the creek below your stance.
    At first your promise seemed it might be good,
    as day by colder day you clenched your clothes about you, staring with your teary eyes into the woods.
    Leaves fell, winds blew.
    And then the days, they came, when not a leaf was left upon a tree.
    No tears fell then upon the wooden bridge, though still you came and stood.
    You lived.
    One day an angel standing by you raised his hand and winter paused.
    A dot of green appeared upon a twig nearby.
    I smiled.
    But too, I had to cry.
    Thank God, thank God,
    your promise had just been a summer lie.

    (c) 2014, Damon Dean

  14. A Year with Freddie Castro

    Freddie was five. He was the most recent
    new kid in our class. Every year a few new
    faces appeared, and the next year they
    disappeared into autumn fog and fallen
    leaves. Freddie said he was an orphan,
    his parents, he said, killed by a tidal wave.
    Sometimes he said they died in the grip
    of a sugar cane thrasher. He said his dad
    was a king, his mother was Maid Marion.
    And then right about Christmastime, he
    claimed that we was born in a manger
    and reared with chickens. Yes, Freddie
    had a firecracker imagination. He was
    an exceptional liar, and we all knew he
    was as iffy as a drained battery.
    But we 
also knew that Freddie just wanted
    someone to listen to him. Not tell him
    to shut up, to be seen and not heard,
    and so he told tall tales so our ears
    trained in his direction. And it can’t
    have been easy with a last name like
    Castro, not in the early 60s that is.

    ~

    (ps: not a word of this true)

  15. Pingback: A Year With Freddie Castro | The Chalk Hills Journal

  16. GOLF IS FOR HONORABLE PEOPLE

    My friend
    came on the green
    and he said, “I lie three.”
    At least he got the first two words
    correct.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  17. “Oh, I’m ok, thank you…”

     

     

     

     

     

    Why do we hide from others
    the weeping pain we suffer?
    Defenses mound like the great wall of China
    at the simplest phrase,  “how are you doing”?
    As if it had radiographic qualities to discern
    the intrinsic fractures in our real person.
    Why do we then protect the lie that we live,
    and keep those whom we love at arms length?
    Only to harbor the contagions of pride and independence,
    the merciless pathogens of the human race?
    Ludicrous.
    So why is it that in our hardest times
    we intend to remain opaque?
    Impenetrable to the light that surrounds us?
    And why on earth would we even attempt to bind
    our own gaping wounds?
    Ludicrous.
    And why do we still grieve as if we had no hope?
    We have the most solid hope, yet we grieve as though we had none.
    So why do we insist on suffering with misery?
    That bum.
    Inviting him to our front door with open arms,
    downing a couple of cocktails of self-pity with him?
    Absolutely ludicrous.
    But when one member suffers, all the members
    suffer with it.
    Yet, self inflicted isolation remains the norm.

     

    Benjamin Thomas
     

     

     

     

     

  18. This prompt came from elsewhere but dovetailed nicely with this prompt so here it is. . .

    Please Tell Me I’m Not a Bad Mother

    I’m such a bad mother—consider
    The facts—my son danced with drugs ‘til
    His arrest, stomping my heart
    Mental illness coiled ‘round
    My girl, squeezing joy
    ‘Til she gave in
    To despair
    Bad, bad
    Mom

    Good?
    Nonsense
    Impossible
    Didn’t you hear?
    Her heavenly song
    He reads God’s word all day
    I’m proud to claim him—surprise
    He’s proud too. Mistakes? Too many
    But in God’s rule, He rewrites the past

    Darlene Franklin ©2014

    • Thanks. An editor I work with frequently is looking for articles and poems on the theme “Please tell me I’m not a bad mother.” Do you think it’s ready to send in?

    • Wonderfully wrought words Darlene; reminds me how, as parents, we’re all too willing to take responsibility for being a bad mother or father when one of our kids goes down the “wrong” path…oddly, it’s rare to hear a parent to take credit for a child who is good and kind, compassionate, etc. I love the line, “I’m proud to claim him…” In my view, the only bad parents are those that neglect or hurt their children…those, I have a problem with.

  19. Great kick off Walt and Linda! And from another place, I’m sorry for your loss Ben…Grandmother’s are special.

    HOW LIKE YOURS, THIS ROOM

    Come through the door and see how like yours, this room
    Your things look so at home here, yes, and soon so shall you
    We are sure in no time the people you meet will feel like family
    And we will visit often, you do believe that, you do of course

    Your things look so at home here, yes, and soon so shall you
    Such beautiful quilts remind us all of every year you’ve lived
    And we will visit often, you do believe that, you do of course
    The photos placed just so will make it feel so cozy don’t you think

    Such beautiful quilts remind us all of every year you’ve lived
    We are sure in no time the people you meet will feel like family
    The photos placed just so will make it feel so cozy don’t you think
    Come through the door and see how like yours, this room

    • It’s beautifully expressed, but I feel the lie “we will visit often, you do believe that, you do of course.” Living here in a nursing home and seeing how seldom some residents have visitors (and others have daily visitors)

      The room sounds well thought out with hints of home.

  20. It’s kind of a two-edged sword Darlene, and meant as such…Families put their elders in homes often because they must (not always, but many times) and the lie(s) they tell themselves and the one going into the new place are well-meant and necessary so they can live with themselves.Some are good at honouring their promises to visit…some, as you’ve observed, sadly not. I think at times, it’s hard to know what the whole story is…

    Thank you both for commenting, William and Darlene.

    • my mom worked at a nursing home and she would sit with the residents that didn’t have visitors, give them plants for their room, etc. It broke her heart to see the people lonely, especially on holidays.

  21. Pingback: Wings and a Smile | Metaphors and Smiles

  22. Wings and a Smile

    If I could breathe truth
    into an alternate story for you
    turn all that terror, trauma
    and self-created drama
    into a mist of distant memory –
    if I could bring your thoughts to now,
    a pleasant present time
    and erase forever your history…
    if I could believe in miracles for you,
    I would.
    I would mold that new lie of a life for you
    smooth with care – every wrinkle and crease,
    if I knew that you’d embrace the change,
    a new existence I’d create
    but you’re consumed by your false unfortunate story,
    you’re enamored with your crumbling past;
    you’ve barricaded your heart in stone and mortar,
    this lasting castle of cold gives you your rightful badge of victimhood
    when what I long for you is a crystalline victory.
    I would…
    I would puzzle together a new tale for you,
    one that would give you wings and a smile.
    I would stitch for you a new suite of armor,
    one that’s held together by wonder and the love of a child.
    Will you be adorned in this fresh apparel?
    Will you let go of delusions and awful affairs?
    Please, believe in this lie I’ve prayed for you,
    I beg of you, let go of this downward spiral.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

  23. Hello Linda! So nice to see you here my friend!! Love, love, love your poem! It made me smile. :) Life has been crazy busy and now I’m hopping on a plane! So I probably won’t be able to post later. I just wanted to say ‘Hi” and enjoy your time as guest host!! :)

  24. I love the Brad Paisley song “Waiting On A Woman” – the video is great, too. I decided to use the title as my poem’s title.

    WAITING ON A WOMAN

    “I’m almost
    done…
    I’ll be right there,”

    she proclaimed,
    as
    she washed her hair.

    He waited
    for
    her, patiently,

    for what seemed
    an
    eternity.

    An hour passed,
    she
    was done at last.

    “See? I can
    get
    ready SO fast!”

    Whether a
    fib
    or if she’s slow?

    It’s a good
    thing
    he loves her, so.

  25. Pingback: Waiting On A Woman | echoes from the silence

  26. DISEASE OF HALF TRUTHS

    Lies hinder the healing of the wound;
    truths suffocate, buried underneath half truths.
    Misdirection of words, fester only deception
    stealing genuiness and spreads infection.

    This is a music compilation I made on behalf of my grandmother who recently passed and to all the fallen heroes in our lives.
    It’s Entitled MARCH TO NOSTALGIA : [embed]http://wp.me/p1F4VT-T[/embed]

    Benjamin Thomas

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