An Avoidable Tizzy

On August 24, 2025August 24, 2025 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Poetry106 Comments

*Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com*

Dr. Google isn’t credible, which leads me to the quote, “Don’t believe what you read on the internet.” I didn’t heed the advice. I mimicked the drowning man in the parable, “Two Boats and a Helicopter.” Do you recall this man who passed up several rescue attempts while facing raging floodwaters because he knew that God would save him? How we miss the signs…Instead, I dove into the words, ignorant of their harm like a fly into a web – each syllable engrained into my psyche, tossing me into a tizzy as Dad would say. I couldn’t get out of my head. It was a night of sheet thrashing. Poor sheets thinking, “What have we done?”

I held my breath, hoping for daylight to peek through the curtains, watching the red digits on the loyal clock seemingly remain in place. So, when light glimmered through the white fabric, it felt like a lighthouse’s beacon. I let go of an exhale, another day – enough of those words! They can’t hurt me anymore (sticks and stones), for darkness is no longer their ally. A step forward into a new mindset that will comfort and encourage.

browsing online can
provoke unhealthy thinking
fact check for trueness

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Thanks for popping in! I hope you’ve had a good weekend so far and wish you a lovely Sunday. ❤️

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Protective Gear

On July 28, 2025 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Poetry92 Comments

At first, I was uncertain. How would I live with my own personal white noise tailing me like a spy? I couldn’t make a James Bond escape. A daunting shadow stalked me for days because the constant hiss felt claustrophobic though I’ve never been…but then time doesn’t concern itself with rest, and I learned to tune it out (the irony). So, to you who reassured me that life goes on despite the hiss, I offer my deepest gratitude. And then I rotated my thoughts, tumbling them in the frontal lobe like clothes in a Kenmore dryer, until my attitude experienced a transformation. My personal noise became protective gear, shielding me from unwanted hubbub in the world, carrying a more soothing cause than threatening.

We deal with the hands we’re dealt, but some take more grit than others to navigate. This should be acknowledged, so navigation time is subject to personal situations. Yet, in doing so, we create our own rules, bringing a whisper of warmth settling over us like being wrapped in the comfort of a cashmere blanket.

try inviting in
a positive perspective
to alleviate

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© Lauren Scott, Baydreamerwrites.com
This blog content cannot be used to train AI.
This post is a follow-up to my original “Hiss”
in case you missed it.
Photo by SlipcoverKAS .COM on Pexels.com
Happy Monday, and I wish you a wonderful week! ❤️

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A “Bug-tastic” 4th!

On July 6, 2025July 6, 2025 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Celebrations, Poetry83 Comments

This 4^th of July carried a less celebratory tone, although freedom isn’t to be taken for granted. Consequently, we continue to honor those who serve in the U.S. military, both in the past and present, in order to protect our freedoms. I don’t normally ‘talk’ politics here, so I’ll leave out the gory details of our emotions. But if you felt the same this weekend, then you’re able to read between the lines. With this being said…

Fun at the county fair deflected unsettling thoughts as we immersed our minds into the ‘bug-tastic’ theme. Ladybugs, bees, butterflies – a terrific trio that does good for the ecosystem – deserved to be in the spotlight. A beautiful butterfly landed on my husband’s sleeve, such a remarkable moment that it brought tears of joy. And there are no words to describe what it feels like when one of these graceful insects rests on your finger. One thing for sure though, breathing is paused. Our early arrival meant a short Ferris-wheel line. Pod #1 was our ride in the sky. I held my hat for fear of the sun-protecting accessory flying into the wild blue yonder. My hair blew every which way, but miles of smiles also took flight. The views were spectacular, a painter’s masterpiece of an annual county fair with humans looking like armies of ants. Once on solid ground, the animals called. How could we not feel love? Tiny, cuddly, furry babies to ooh and ahh over. A sheep got a haircut, “baa-ing” because maybe he didn’t like the experience. But he probably felt relief in the summer sun once that thick layer of wool was removed. Dollars evaporated as we supported cool vendors. Bonsai trees received our admiration – lovely in their miniature forms, especially, two gorgeous bougainvillea. Once a year fair food entices, a savory and sweet indulgence for the palate. We even bought a funnel cake to go so that smaller portions would be possible. Just a taste is all it takes. A summer strawberry sinfully delicious delight! The sun watched over the crowd that would grow later in the day, but the golden orb complied, didn’t smother with intense heat. A little breeze shadowed us from here to there, keeping pleasant company. A margarita and rum punch hit the spot when the sun sat higher. Picnic tables with a sea of umbrellas in lime greens, petunia pinks, and turquoise invited us to sit, enjoy, and people watch. Time mystifies, because hours later, all the desired stops were checked off, so it was time to walk through the exit gate, no hand stamp. We were good for the day.

county fairs welcome
all ages one to beyond
free your inner child

My souvenir, a Henna tattoo. I love
butterflies, so it fit with the theme. 🦋

We didn’t stay for the fireworks show, but we have many times in the past. So, the fireworks photo is from a July 4th show on TV. 😊. I hope you enjoyed this haibun/prose, along with the photos from our 4th festivities. And if you live in the USA, I hope you had a fun and safe celebration. 🎆 As always, thanks for popping in to my corner of blogland. Have a wonderful week ahead! 💙🤍❤️

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Hiss

On June 19, 2025June 20, 2025 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Poetry178 Comments

Dear Friends,
I apologize for my silence this week, but it’s not because my world has been silent…

Dear Tinnitus,

You arrived like an earthquake without warning. One day you simply shook my essence. You could be birdsong, a river flowing, soft rainfall, a symphony, a beautiful melody, but instead, a low hiss.

A negative mind could say like a punctured tire.
A positive mind would say like soothing white noise.

I’m thankful you don’t roar like thunder.
I’m thankful you don’t steal my ability
to function…
to live.

But sleep? Laying my head down on the pillow with you beside me is anything but relaxing.

Everything unpleasant requires mind over matter, so, I repeat,
“I’m fine, I’m fine!”
Eventually, my mind falls into a slumber.

Things can always be worse.

The pros:

I can still hear
the sounds I love.
You’re not horribly loud.
The train of life moves forward.
You didn’t bring pain
with your baggage.
Your visit could be temporary.
It’s not life-threatening.
You’re common.

The cons:

I feel trapped inside you.
No escaping.
A sense of claustrophobia.
I’ve had enough.
Let me out!
Falling asleep is challenging.
Your visit could be permanent.
Living with you is life changing.

I miss the solitude of silence, and now masking your constant presence is a must.

It is a privilege to blow out birthday candles each year, but with aging comes possible bumps in the road. So another bump may have tripped me up, but it won’t keep me down!

Mind over matter…

I hope your stay is temporary but knowing you could decide to hang out with me for the duration of my life, I might just need to get used to you.
So, I (once again) take One day at a time.

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Note: We experience things in life that we don’t always welcome, but life inspires writing – the reason for sharing my experience. I’m also open to any encouraging words.

Working on my Copper book and book reviews were paused this week because of this new diagnosis. Learning about tinnitus and how I can manage it has taken precedence. But soon I’ll post reviews for the following books:
Burning Butterflies, Ink Stained Love, Ancient Voices, and Meadowlark Songs.

I appreciate you, and I hope life is treating you well! Love and hugs, Lauren ❤️

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Anticipating Ms. Autumn

On September 1, 2024September 2, 2024 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Poetry, Prose, Recordings89 Comments

Happy September! I welcome the new season upon us in a few weeks with wide open arms! This summer has been stressful, and much too hot for too many consecutive days. So, cooler temps, come our way!
And on that note, Ms. Autumn has something to say…

I am not bashful. In fact, I tell it like it is, and I am thrilled that my cue for moving into your lives is coming up around the corner! In quiet moments, I reminisce on the good times when you express your oohs and aahs as I make my entrance. How I gracefully arrive donning pomegranate reds, cinnamon browns, and citrine yellows. Energy buzzes like a walk on the red carpet – a highly anticipated moment, so I have heard.

My sweet fragrance beautifies a stroll around the neighborhood. My cool touch refreshes, replacing summer’s harsh existence. And I am aware that Mr. Summer’s mood this year has been exceptionally unsympathetic toward you, my humans whom I adore!

Now regarding my work, I labor with patience and diligence – brush in hand and paint by my side to create a vibrant landscape. Lovely memories as vivid as the colors of my wardrobe…
memories of yesteryear before Mr. Raging Fire barged in, disrupting the balance of the nature of seasons.

Now, each year, a sense of dread crushes that sought-after anticipation of my arrival. And yet, defeat has not prevailed. This new reality only advises that my effort must toughen up…paint and brush lie in wait at my fingertips. The artist deep within will continue to create for you who appreciate the very essence of me.

❤️💜💙🩵🧡

Veins

On April 26, 2024April 26, 2024 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Poetry, Prose52 Comments

How did naiveté slide into her veins? Why were those vessels so accommodating? She had listened intently to his persuasive syllables as they rolled like a lover’s ballad carried on summer’s breeze. They purported to express his love and devotion to her. Hence, the cadence of her heartbeat simulated gentle ocean waves ebbing and flowing beneath a robin egg blue sky. Her mind fuzzy like a delicious wine buzz because that’s what the power of love is capable of, mesmerizing her before his promises landed hard in the branches of the trees, stabbed in retaliation.

How did naiveté leech into her blood transforming its crimson red to a faded replica of weakness? The mirror hanging on the back of her door exposes a reflection of despair, unrecognizable. Yet, she understands the breadth of her situation, but when will the difference between humanity and an arresting performance reveal itself? When will the language flow like a lover’s ballad on summer’s breeze embracing her with warmth and security of compassion and honesty? Or is this simply a dream so far-removed from her reach?

Time mystifies, but with its magical means, her mind has awakened to reality. She releases a sigh of relief, realizing her heart is devoid of fissures. Never again will she place her golden treasure in danger of breaking. She has rid his presence from her precious sunrises. The panacea was inside her all along – a shifting from low self-esteem to self-assurance, an enlightening altering of what she desires for her tomorrows.

The longing in her soul pulses to witness butterflies flutter by again, and deer casually stroll down her street. To witness hummingbirds seeking out soft petals, evoking memories of her beloved mother. It’s not as though butterflies never visited her garden, or deer never strolled by her home, and it’s not like hummingbirds avoided visiting for a sip from her pink geraniums. She just never permitted herself to observe the beauty because her heart became preoccupied, and he was undeserving of its loyalty, frequently opining his needs and unconcerned with hers.

But now she shows great sagacity in making changes after declaring to her reflection in the mirror of what life offers. All she needs to do is invite life in. So, let the chirp of birds echo – delightful sounds of joy outside her window – and let deer stroll in their graceful manners. Let the wind blow, the mountains call, and the waterfalls fall, because blood in her veins now flows rich crimson red!

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A Milestone to Celebrate!

On January 21, 2024January 21, 2024 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Poetry111 Comments

The constellations
the moon
the sun
the whispers in the trees
the breeze around
our faces
the waves
kissing the shore
They all knew
before we did…

When we first met, the future gave no intimation as to what it held for us, but what evolved was a love without a finish line, deepening as we basked in each moment spent together.

Thirty-five years ago, I gave my heart to him – He gave his heart to me, trusting, knowing something exceptional was happening.

Whatever path we chose in the past, whatever path we choose in the present, we walk hand in hand facing the unknown, facing the adventures.

His life is built around mine. My life is built around his.

I wrote about how we met here. But how we’ve stayed together is an entirely different chapter in our book. Of course, love is the key component, but the other significant elements that follow love are friendship, unselfishness, wanting each other to be happy, communication, and listening. And though we’ve had disagreements, we’ve never had turbulent fights, nor have we stooped to name-calling. My mother-in-law gave us a card that had sage advice for newly married couples. One piece of advice was never to go to bed angry. We never have. So, we feel proud to reach 35 years, but we also feel fortunate to have found each other to share our lives with, and we hope to celebrate many more anniversaries to come. ❤️

Thank you for joining in the celebration
of our 35th wedding anniversary!
Have a wonderful week ahead! ❤️

A collection of poems about nature,
love, and the mysteries of life.
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Thank you! 💚

Finding peace…

On October 18, 2023October 18, 2023 By Lauren Scott, AuthorIn Discussion, Poetry116 Comments

Dear Friends,

I hope you’re doing well. Our family has been spending as much time as possible with my father-in-law who is nearing the end of his life. He is on hospice, living in a lovely facility with the best care. It has been difficult to witness his body failing, but the silver lining is that spending more time with him has been a gift – these moments have given us room to prepare for the inevitable. When he is lucid on occasion, the gift is even greater.

Writing poetry during my break has been soothing. This surreal experience has been emotional for all of us, but if it inspires me to write, my husband feels it’s a beautiful thing. I was motivated to try a Haibun for the first time after reading D.L. Finn’s gorgeous poetry book, Deep in the Forest Where Poetry Blooms. I loved her collection and will share a review and a couple others in the next few weeks.

This piece may not qualify as a Haibun, but it’s a beginning…

The Last Days

The outdoor temperature feels like a summer day in August though ghosts and goblins lurk around the bend. The orange ball shines brilliantly lighting up the clear blue sky. But inside his room, death awaits in the corners – a dreary atmosphere until we turn on lights to uplift our spirits. Classical music drifts out the windows, swirling around the trees and gardens still bursting with reds and oranges. Photos of family and friends, and ball caps from favorite sports teams embellish the bare white walls.

He lies in bed each day, body frail. A vision we hope will fade over time. A vision contrasting to the man who hiked mountains. The small clock ticking on the bedside table and the calendar hanging on the wall irrelevant. His words, an untranslatable language. His appetite, diminished, but it’s time for breakfast, so we pull the lids from each tub. He slightly opens his mouth like a mama bird feeds her chick, and we gently hold the spoon so he can take in tiny bites of pureed eggs and oatmeal. The tubs still look full, but so is his stomach. Sleep calls him. His chest slowly moves up and down with soft breaths. We stretch out this moment, then we lay a kiss on his forehead, tell him that we love him and that we’ll see him later. We steal one more glance at Dad, then we slowly walk out the door with tears struggling for freedom.

a routine until
he slowly draws his last breath
preparing our hearts

**A Haibun is a combination of prose and haiku, and usually includes autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story, or travel journal.