Category Archives: Poem

Queen of Clean

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Queen of Clean

Squeaky clean, squeaky clean—
no errant coffee ground nor bean
mars my kitchen’s pure hygiene.
My kitchen floor is so pristine,
of cleanliness, I am the queen.
But if you catch it in between
those days the cleaning girl has been
working her magic on the scene,
I do not brag.  I do not preen.
I fear my house has lost its sheen.
I blame it on the dog, who’s keen
on dragging sand home from the beach
and brooms and dust rags I can’t reach.
So to you who daily teach
rules in fastidiousness, then preach
that cleanliness is right there next
to godliness, I’m clearly hexed.
Except for that one day a week
when I, too, am a cleanliness freak.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/clean/

Resist!!!!!

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Resist!!!!

This serpent that has tweeted and hissed
bursts forth like an erupting cyst,
uncoiling through the growing mist
of hydrocarbons, he checks his wrist.
Time for more treasures to be dissed––
air to pollute, cronies to enlist.
He combs his mind. He checks his list––
His whole agenda, an upraised fist.
Supporters, how could you have missed
the cold heart of this pugilist?
A savior or a hedonist?
It’s like the antichrist you’ve kissed.
How can you fail to get the gist
of all he’s recently dismissed:
the fact we need to coexist––
the clean air we need to exist––
the animals we must assist
with what is needed to subsist?
Health care and schools join the list.
Women’s rights? Staunch men insist
that ancient laws once more persist.
This truth just cannot be dismissed:
he is the largest terrorist.
He is a child, moody and pissed,
who gives our arm a mighty twist,
who must be chided to desist.
We must continue to resist.

The prompt word today is resist.

Rose


Rose

We are all filters of the world,
taking the news in—the happy births 
and inane deaths, the charities and cruelties,
the beauties and the gross ugliness
of nature and of human nature. 
These things pass through us or get stuck,
taking us with them into the poles of our own natures.
Those ills of the world we choose to dwell on
change us if we are not careful to let them go again
or to act in a manner opposite—
which causes us to seed new hope
which just might, just might
catch hold in the sieves
of others

and bloom.

A concrete poem is one that takes the form of what it describes. I could find no photo of a rose in my photo library, so the form of the poem will have to do to illustrate its meaning. 

The prompt today was “filter.”

Simple

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Trying to keep it simple is harder than you think.
Each time I straighten out my life, fate adds another kink.

Today’s prompt was “Simple“.

Spot Amnesia

Spot Amnesia

How can I sort the world out to when I was only ten?
I’ve taken my mind back there and come back here again.
Eleven I remember, and I also recall nine,
Grades one through four and six through twelve, I remember fine.
Why can’t I remember that year when I was ten?
I opened up an album to take me back again.
I see that I was chubby and had unfortunate hair.
Maybe that is reason enough to keep me out of there.
To live just in the present can block a lot of pain.
Sunny days are better without memories of rain.
Perhaps this digging in the past is something to be curbed,
and certain memories are not meant to be disturbed.
Whatever blocked my fifth year out will be allowed to die.
There’s wisdom in the adage to just let sleeping dogs lie.

 

The prompt word today is “ten.“

Oversight

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Oversight

There’s more in life that you can view
than what folks say and what folks do.
Deeper meanings hang in the air.
You can always see them, they’re always there.
More to be learned from what’s not said—
more to the meal than what we’re fed.

I note expressions, nuance, glances.
I’m an early spotter of romances
that others seem oblivious to.
A quick expression can be a clue,
a tone of voice a giveaway
of what a person means to say.

Those who see farther can be a bore.
Always looking and seeing more
than what folks would have them see,
noting life’s disparity
between what is and seems to be—
said behind backs or vis–á-vis.

So though you haven’t told me that
you find me boring, crass or fat,
I know as clearly as though you had.
And when I seem withdrawn or sad,
it’s not that I have ESP
that tells me what you think of me.

It’s simply that I pay attention
to more than what you choose to mention.
Though these extra perceptions take their toll,
they’re nothing that I can control.
I can’t shake them, try as I might.
It seems that I have “oversight.”

 

The prompt word today was “oversight.”

S-U-C-C-E-S-S

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S-U-C-C-E-S-S

“S-U-C-C-E-S-S—that’s the way you spell success!”
These words still rouse me, I confess,
though fifty years now (more or less)
have passed since I last heard the chant
that quickly turned into a rant
when we saw the basketball soar
through the net and become lore.

It was the year they won it all—
those high school kings of basketball,
with last-second ball thrown from mid-hall.
Both those who watched and those who played
cheered  and ranted, chanted, brayed.
The day that ball swished through the net?
It was as good as sports could get.

The prompt today was “successful.”

Exquisite Creatures

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Exquisite Creatures

Another exquisite creature lies yonder on the hill—
just beyond the pampa horse, okapi and spoonbill.
All the lovely creatures we are here to see
imprisoned behind barriers, just for you and me.

Polar bear goes pacing, as does lioness.
What they might be thinking, I can only guess.
Now that they know their freedom mainly by its edges,
one dreams of the tundra, the other icy ledges.

All day as they view us, in their eyes are gleams
revealing  what they’re thinking—a pathway to their dreams.
Stalking their next meal— the waiting and the hush,
before the final pounce, that old familiar rush.

Ferrets with their kits and camels with their calves
are showing us their natures by quarters or by halves.
We see the way they eat and spy on how they pee,
but we’ll never see the whole of them in captivity.

Nature that is cageless has more of a savor.
Both the viewed and viewer spontaneous and braver.
With no bars between them, they’re part of the same world
as they retrieve their wildness from corners where it’s curled.

Hear a might roar, a hiss, a screech a chatter—
all exotic sounds that tell us what’s the matter.
If we are approaching, wandering too near,
they are simply telling us they don’t want us here.

Of all of the animals, they’ve heard we are the worst—
the primary reason our world’s about to burst.
Viewing all our actions, now and through the ages,
if they had their druthers, they’d put us all in cages.

The prompt word today is “exquisite.”

Incapable

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Incapable

Capable? I fear I’m not
for usually, I’m too hot.
Sleeves I do for vanity,
but capes weren’t made for folks like me.
If the capes are long and fem,
I get my heels caught in the hem,
and if they’re roomy and too wide,
I find that I get lost inside.
I get my purse strap tangled in,
the neck tangled around my chin.
The bat wings flap and catch the breeze.
The wool ones make me gasp and sneeze.
So, if you’re a swaddler, leave me be.
I like my torso cover-free.

The prompt word today was capable.

Cruel Infinity

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Cruel Infinity

I cannot face the infinite—
that colossal haunted house—
too many rooms seemingly empty
that teem with invisible somethings
that I can’t comprehend.
How could I find myself in such vastness?
What in those giant corridors knows I exist?
Ego, finally, my undoing, as I fear
becoming part of what I find impossible
to grasp.

Everything I am
yearns towards the specific—
fine detail being more or less
how I have spent my life.
How can such a life be reconciled
with the infinite? Everything
cycling up and up from nothing
and, we fear, back down again.
He who says that nature is not ironic
lies or simply refuses to face the truth.

It is a cruel infinity that has included
such a tiny space
for me.

The prompt today was “infinite.”