Category Archives: Poem

Bad Timing: Wordle 522


Bad Timing

It’s not until I hear the thunder
that I recognize my blunder.
All alone. (I ditched my fella).
In the forest, no umbrella.

As I walk, my shoes are gooing.
Up above, the doves are cooing,
but they’re up there under covers
with their nestlings and their lovers.

I’m down here shivering in the rain
with seven miles of rough terrain
in front of me from here to home.
I need a fairy, elf or gnome

to come and work their magic spell
to save me from this drippy Hell.
The rain beats its loud tattoos
upon my head and neck and shoes.

I start to shiver, drip and ooze.
I covet shelter, dryness, booze—
all things that I had of late
before I deigned to ditch my date!

My  leather shoes, high-heeled and small,
are not helping things at all.
I take them off and walk bare-toed
down the rain-slicked country road.

I wish that I had asked how far
home was before I left the car!

Prompt words are doves, elves, walk, tattoo, covet, umbrella, seven, blunder, forest, thunder, leathery, small. Image by Merri on Unsplash.

For: The Sunday Whirl Wordle 522

Tomboy

Tomboy

She ate all her spinach, devoured all her kale.
She lifted weights and cussed and spit, and still she wasn’t male.
She wanted to be Popeye, but instead was Olive Oyl.
Nothing that she ever did made her less a goil.

She wished on every rainbow, unequivocally,
did her affirmations and squeezed her rosary,
praying for delivery from this female form.
Because she had three brothers, she felt it not the norm.

But when she reached her teenage years, something slowly changed.
Somehow she felt more normal and slightly less deranged.
And though it took a little time, finally she did confess
shyly, to her mother, that she’d like to buy a dress.

She put her hair in curlers and scrubbed her scaly knees,
spent more time upon the phone and less time climbing trees.
Flirted with her brothers’ friends whom formerly she wrestled.
Wound up at the movies, very comfortably nestled

up against the shoulder of a guy named Paul
and found that somehow she felt great. She didn’t mind at all
that she had not been born a boy, because then she’d have missed
that feeling that she felt the very first time she was kissed.

Prompt words today are indeed, equivocal, female, rainbow and squeeze.

Up in Lights

Up in Lights

She was an excellent waitress at Barney’s Bar and Grill—
cheerful in her service and accomplished at the till.
He saw her as he entered and admired her from afar,
then engaged her with his banter and said she’d be a star.

She aspired to the movies and so she was fair game.
She said that she’d do anything to try to get her name
up there on the billboards above the picture show,
so he taught her how to dress and act and told her where to go.

She was a fervent vessel, ready to be filled—
a pliant mound of clay for him to form and knead and build.
Taking that mere girl that he’d found in Barney’s diner,
he forged her rough exterior into something finer.

He knew just how to mold her—to polish and embellish
to make her into something that Hollywood would relish.
Now her name is on the Marquee for all the world to see,
And he gets ten percent of her top star salary!

 

Prompt words today are vessel, fervent, grill, forge and movie.
Image by Samuel Regan on Unsplash.

Panegyric Poetry: Ode to Morrie

 

Ode to Morrie

Oh you ball of energy, you little snarl of fluff.
When it comes to hugging you, I cannot get enough.
Your hair so black and curly, your teeth so sharp and white
that it is an honor when you choose to bite.

Your flair at ball retrieval truly has no equal.
However many thrown for you, you always seek a sequel.
Your eyes luminous marbles, your nails a lovely shape
from running over terraces to stem a squirrel’s escape.

Your hairy little jowls would put Borgnine’s to shame.
So many little mysteries for which you aren’t to blame.
What creature eats the birdseed spread out on the wall?
What other creature has your leap? What other dog the gall?

You give the cats their exercise and what possum would dare
to stray into a garden given to your care?
Oh brave little caroler when interloper passes,
Your mighty barks belie your size. No burglar tests your sasses.

At night you serenade me with your howling croon
accompaniment to ambulances or the rising moon.
My revered alarm clock, my companion after dark,
as now and then throughout the night I celebrate your bark.

Each day I laud thy energy, thy beauty and thy voice.
When I contemplate your dogginess, I cannot but rejoice!
This ode of praise I write for thee, I cannot help but pen it.
If there had been a dog messiah, my dear, you would have been it!

 

A Panegyric poem of praise for dVerse Poets

Gauntlet

 

Gauntlet

Cold as ice, brittle as bone. 
Lethal as a well-aimed stone.
Nonetheless, it’s you I crave— 
calculating, clever, brave. 
Though you fit me like a glove, 
you’re not predisposed to love. 
How long will your memory linger
as you’re peeled off, finger by finger?

 

For the dVerse Poets Quadrille prompt: Stone

Within

]

Within

External episodes are thrilling
but may not be half so chilling
as other splendors that reside
within ourselves—so deep inside
that they may be unmapable
because they are not palpable
to anyone except ourselves.
They’re mysteries that science delves
by means of psychotherapy.
They seek the treasures that may be
hidden in us, but so deep
we think they’re secrets that we keep.
It’s where we go in poetry—
exploring places we can’t see
unless we voice them lingually.

Prompt words are splendour, episode, chilling, palpable and external.

 

Obituary of a Jerk: Wordle 521, Oct 3, 2021

 


The Obituary of a Jerk

We are loath to depict his despicable face,
for when it came to living, he just used up space.
He first saw to his own comfort all of his life,
never thinking of kids or parents or wife.
No slur to his family was ever avenged.
He had little time as he gorged and he binged.

One never knew if he could or he couldn’t.
Maybe he would or maybe he wouldn’t
get places on time, even given a ticket—
advance plans “a bit of the old sticky wicket.”
A fact all his family found a bit lame,
for he wasn’t British—in lineage or name.

And no matter how crammed the sofa might get,
he’d never stand when he found he could sit.
He’d say “Pull up a chair,” and when you had done it,
he’d use it himself–just plop his buns on it!
And although you may think that’s as bad as it gets,
don’t make any wagers. Don’t take any bets.

I’ve got so many stories depicting his greed
that you’d have to stay here for hours to read
the tales of his excesses, selfishness, binging.
They’re unbelievable–really unhinging.
He frittered away his kids’ college savings
on fishing trips, camping and personal cravings.

Their summer earnings bought his new car,
then he spent all the rest for rounds at the bar.
So  when it comes to expressing our grief,
you’ll find all his eulogies startlingly brief.
He was born and he prospered, then sickened and perished
unmourned and ungrieved-for, unloved and uncherished.

 

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 521 the prompt words were avenge, lame, sit, ticket, cram, here, gets, pulls, maybe, used, space, comfort

Mr. Know and Do-It-All

Mr. Know and Do-It-All

When it comes to puzzles, I solve every one.
It’s just a small part of my regular fun.
I can do cryptic, obscure if you wish.
Give me a recipe, I’ll cook the dish.
My stew is nutritious, delicious and stirrable
No job you give will I find insuperable.

Difficult tasks are why I exist.
Tell an obscure joke. I’ll discover the gist.
Problems excite me. Mysteries make me shiver.
I’m the proverbial solution giver.
What is impossible pushes my button.
Give me a live sheep and I’ll give you mutton.

Since I’ve gotten older, I’ve barely slowed down.
My feats are historic all over this town.
I am the one that unlocks keyless doors.
I’ve driven off bandits and outbored known bores.
Once you push my button, I’ll go ’til I’m done.
for I’m the proverbial “call upon” one!

Prompt words are cryptic, historic, shiver, insuperable and button.

A Wild Redemption


A Wild Redemption

Sick of this world,
I take a morning walk
up a nearby mountain trail I’ve long neglected.

As I trudge the uphill path,
I wave good-bye to those figments of reality
that are but squatters in my brain—
invasive memories
that by their constant presence
have proclaimed themselves to be
the intrinsic truths of our world.

I blame the internet
for choosing what we see
and those fools we meet there
whom otherwise
we’d never have occasion to listen to.

The path is rough
with dirt and grass,
rubbled by rough stones
like uncut gems.

Abandoned sneakers
crown a pile of 
drying palm fronds,
as though they’ve been parted from their legs
much as the palm fronds have been
severed from their trees.

Banks of golden flowers
form walls on

either side,
then give way to

stalks of purple blooms
with saffron tongues
and multi-colored clover.
The white bands of butterflies
striped like zebras
announce their presence in the shade,

and even the litter
is fallen flowers.

In the path lies
the circular mounded artistry of ants

that signals that new and private world
they’ve cleared out for themselves below.

Too soon, and long before I would have turned
to renegotiate a path now sloped downwards,
a closed gate either forgotten
or new since I last passed this way
so many years before,
turns me homewards,
past the abandoned shoes

and fallen trees turning into soil,
past the orange blooms of a tabachine tree,
past stone walls
and cobblestones.
and more contained beauty.

The runoff from last night’s rain
shoots from the drain that pierces a high stone wall.
Mushrooms grow on a woodpile

beneath the bright yellow of a neighbor’s tabachine,
and a split-open pomegranate
from my own tree
forms a happy face, welcoming me home


as my across-the-street neighbor’s
new small dog,
unaccustomed to me,

barks out her protest
of this interloper
who has been newly saved
by the reality
of the wild beauty
of our world
that was here
before we came,

has been here
all along,

and will
remain
after we leave.

This is the more constant truth of the world,
and I return home
to create a reminder of it.


To see photos of the walk, click Here and then click on each photo
to enlarge it and advance to an enlarged view of the rest of the photos. (An abridged version of this poem is given as captions to explain the photos but omits some of the above stanzas.)

Prompt words today are wave, figment, blame, intrinsic and sick.

Beholding Beauty

Beholding Beauty

You are the Burmese cat, stepping high
over the small sculptures
on the wall where he is fed,
his tail curving into a delicate hook.

You are vibrating leaves on the hibiscus tree
adding the contrast of green
to the one exquisite yellow bloom
with its fuchsia sunset middle.

You are a child whose violet eyes
open wider to each wonder––innocent,
never knowing yourself to be more beautiful
than what you observe.

You are music, harmonious, played
on the spur-of-the-moment with no rehearsal,
fingerpaints on the wall in an incredibly wild pattern
that could not have been planned.

You are the gourmet meal
made of leftovers from the fridge,
the wonderful costume gathered
from hangers at the thrift store.

You have a beauty
you were not born to––
one that is an amalgam
of every choice you make in life.

Beauty is in the eye
of the beholder, many say,
but it is impossible to imagine
a beholder who couldn’t see it in you.

 

For dVerse Poets Open Link Night.