Category Archives: Poem

Dear Genie (A Note Affixed to a Bottle) for dVerse Poets

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Dear Genie (A Note Affixed to a Bottle)

Dear Genie  (A note Affixed to a Bottle)

Get back into the bottle. You’re doing nothing right.
The Adonis I requested just the other night
turned out to be the plumber. He got here around nine,
but the pipes he chose to work on were not any pipes of mine.
A problem with your hearing is a possibility,
so for now there’s only one more wish that I would ask of thee.
A doctor of ear, nose and throat you need to visit, please,
for when I requested money, you brought me hives of bees.
Now I’ve sufficient honey and beeswax it appears—
almost as much as I imagine you have in your ears.
As it is, each thing I wish for occasions my new fears.
So you’re confined to quarters ’til your hearing reappears!

For dVerse Poets: Bottle

Prompted, Aug 23, 2023

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So, late last night, ForgottenMan commented on the fact that I was practically blogless for the day. I commented that if he felt the need for a poem that he might furnish some prompts, which he took literally and promptly supplied. They were: effective affective (in)effective elective selective invective.

By the time he had supplied them, I was already asleep, but I awakened at 4:30 AM and after doing Wordle, Quordle, Quordle Sequence and Blossom, I accepted his challenge. Here is my feeble effort in satisfying his prompt:

Prompted

My task is totally elective
and my choice of words selective,
so I will rouse no invective
if I turn out unreflective
concerning words he found effective
but that I brand ineffective
in causing me to be reflective!!!!

Prompted: Happy National Poet’s Day, Aug. 21, 2023

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Prompted

They stand in restless lengthy queues, awaiting their fate.
They’ve gone unused so many months. Perhaps it is too late.
Words that rhyme group up in pairs, trios or quartets.
Words with equal syllables cavort in minuets.

They cannot volunteer themselves but must wait to be chosen.
In lockstep, they march caught in place, thus sentenced to be frozen.
Meanwhile, her muse goes shopping for expressions unexpressed,
hoping that she’ll stumble on unique words lately pressed.

Thus are new poems stymied, waiting for inspiration,
hoping they’ll be given birth before their expiration.
And the poet gazes skyward, waiting for that zen
to deliver the first word to her, so she can begin.

Thanks to Martha Kennedy for pointing out that August 21 is National Poetry Day as well as RDP for inspiring this poem! FOR RDP: Queue

Nightmare, for SOCS

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Nightmare.

Come here, my dear.
Those dangers near,
though they appear
to mock and leer,
will not come here.
So dry each tear.
Danger’s jeer,
it’s truly clear,
is just sheer
groundless fear.

The prompt for SOCS is to grab the book closest to you, open at random and use the first three words of the first full sentence on that page to start your post.  Here goes….The book was The Blue Butterfly by Leslie Johansen Nack. The three words, Come here, my. . . .
Image by Paz Z on Unsplash.

Magic Circle for Three Things Challenge

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Magic Circle

Ring around a Rosie
safe within a hoop.
Mommy drew a circle
around the chicken coop.

When the fox jumped over it,
the hens began to squawk,
voicing their alarm
in raucous chicken talk.

Mommy grabbed a broom
to drive the rascal out,
punctuating every swing
with an angry shout.

Now the fox is sulking,
hungry little pest
while each hen is settled
securely in her nest.

The ring around this Rosie,
our most prolific hen,
means that we’ll have scrambled eggs
more than now and then!!!

For the Three Things Challenge

The three words today are:
RING
CIRCLE
HOOP

Same Genes, Separate Tables: For Wordle 89

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Same Genes, Separate Tables

My brother joined a commune where they live on rabbit food.
They find hamburgers shallow and people who eat them rude.
He has said that he’ll guide me into a better life
and save me from the rushing, the chaos and the strife.

He says I’ve build a fort around my inner self
and put all my emotions safe upon a shelf.
Slowing down will help me—give me a brand new chance
to escape the world’s battles and join him in its dance.

I love my  brother deeply and hold him in my heart,
yet when it comes to life styles we’re sadly far apart.
I cannot give up cheeseburgers and french fried potatoes
for a life of tofu, kohlrabi and tomatoes!

For the Sunday Whirl, Aug 12, 2023  the prompt words are: guide shallow people chance fort held brother join food rabbit slow rushes

To be truthful, hamburgers and french fries no longer really taste good to me, but neither does most food outside of chocolate and Cheetos! So still not a good candidate for good health and contentment.

Leaf Fall, Snow Fall––For Wordle 615

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Leaf Fall, Snow Fall

Voracious winds split open to spill their crumbled spoils,
unfurling leaf confetti in airborne swirls and coils.
They empty them on lawn and deck, a sign of  what is coming
when winter drops its glittering load—beautiful and numbing.
I do not fear chill prospects, for I’ll be warm and snug
as my house wraps arms around me in its protective hug.

 

For the Sunday Whirl 615 the prompts are: grim glittering crumble empties confetti voracious unfurls wind split mind sign deck

Alone

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Why I Dine Alone at Burger King

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Why I Dine Alone at Burger King

I’d like a single cheeseburger with pickles on the side,
cheese but no tomato—a fruit I can’t abide.
Be sure there is no pink to see. I like my burgers brown.
You can also skip the cardboard hat. I do not need a crown.

Grilled onions on the cheeseburger and easy on the goo.
Give me a diet Coke with that. I’d like some French fries, too.
I sit down at a booth to wait, my number on the table,
but if I could, I’d supervise—that is, if I were able.

My sandwich comes. I have a bite. I see no pink or red.
I start to take a drink of Coke but have a fry instead.
It’s hot and oh so crispy. Redolent of grease.
I feel a surge of appetite. My hunger pangs increase.

I alternate the bites I take between the fries and meat.
As regular as clockwork. I do not miss a beat.
For when it comes to fast food, I do not equivocate.
My ratio of fries-to-burger I must calibrate.

I plan it down to the last fry. I don’t allow for glitches,
and woe to folks who borrow one. I do not abide snitches.
If you want a French fry, please buy some of your own.
I have plans for all of mine. I am not sharing-prone.

With one more bite of burger and only two more fries,
the ratio is one-to-two. I plan to synchronize.
I have it all planned out, my friend, so if you’re chancing by,
keep your fingers off my French fries, or somebody’s gonna die!

For: https://alwayswrite.blog/2023/08/02/wq-31-alone/
And HERE is a link to other poems and quotes on this subject.

Number 9 Blues

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Number 9 Blues

Those eyes,
that song,
A bird the color
of the moon
we met under.

The wind
a ribbon of sadness.
Cold hands,
broken heart—
all the hue
of a trumpet’s lonely staccato.

For Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Pick a Number.

Vidalia Onions: Short Poem, Long Story.

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Vidalia Onion Dicer. No More Tears!

The onions fall down into the collection receptacle.

Sauerkraut and mustard, ketchup, onions, relish—
a hotdog was created merely to embellish.

The tears came later, when the bill came. Go HERE to read the story of the thirty dollar hot dog. And you’ll just have to imagine the story of my my recent forty-dollar corn dog eaten at a hotel in Billings, Montana. Pictured below, its story is too painful to relate. No onions, this time.

My thirty dollar (Canadian) hot dog.
And—-my forty dollar (U.S.) corn dog!

 Here is the link for the prompt, and here are more poems on the subject for dVerse Poets: Vidalia Onions