Category Archives: Poetry

Poems in many categories: Loss, NaPoWriMo

Hop Scotch (Don’t Worry. Be Happy!)

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                       Click on photos to enlarge.

 

T

                                  Hop
Scotch

                      “How green is blue?” the child asks,
“What is the taste of pink?”
                        A prodigy koan-master
 with a novel way to think,
                        such problems keep a child’s mind
engaged in matters other
                         than all the daily problems
of a father or a mother. 

                         No spider ever stumbles
when spinning out her strands,
                         for the feet she walks around on
are really only hands.
                         No specter of a problem
ever plagues a goat.
                          He simply feeds upon the world
and lives his life by rote.

                       And so it is with children.
They go from thing to thing
                      with no worries of the outcomes
that their acts might bring.
                       They leave to human adults
the worries of such things
                        and simply live with pleasures
that every new day brings.

Prompts for today are “How green is blue?” spider, stumble, specter and goat.

Gremlins: A Teenage Mythology

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Gremlins: A Teenage Mythology

A sneeze is how a poltergeist gets outside of you.
At night a different stinky elf sleeps inside each shoe.

Every creaking rafter supports its resident ghost,
and it’s little gremlins who make you burn the toast.

Each night those tricky fairies put snarls in your hair,
while pixies in your sock drawer unsort every pair.

Midnight curtain billows are caused by banshee whistles.
Vampires use your toothbrush and put cooties in its bristles.

Truths all come in singles. It’s lies that come in pairs.
That’s a zombie, not a teenager, sneaking up the stairs.

 

This poem is posted for: The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Pain and Pleasure

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Pain and Pleasure

Be thankful for your bugaboos, though they invade your head
while walking down a lonely street or lying in your bed.
I know they make you nervous, especially at night.
They ramify your countless fears. They niggle, scratch and bite.
Fear is the voice of instinct. It says that something’s wrong.
It sets action in motion when pain sounds the warning gong.
Fear and pain must guide the way. Without them you are guileless.
How would we know something was wrong if gall bladders were bileless?
Nature’s warning signals, be they physical or mental
agitate those normal states more pleasurably gentle.
They are our bodyguards and they make us more secure,
warning of us problems for which we need a cure.
They tell of hidden dangers. Make us more aware.
It’s true both pain and pleasure are part of nature’s care.

Prompts for today are thankful, bugaboo, nervous, night and ramify.

Turning the Tables on the Milkman

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Turning the Tables on the Milkman

Throw clothes over your birthday suit, it’s fast becoming dawn.
We need to be respectable, so put your jammies on.
The milkman will be coming and it would be a plus
if when we met him at the door, we had some clothes on us.
Mere speed will not suffice, dear. We also need some raiment.
No need to let the milkman in on our entertainment.

For milk upon our Fruit Loops, there are obstacles to hurdle
if we want to eat before the milk begins to curdle.
My walker in the hallway, your cane dropped on the floor,
the stairway to maneuver, the deadbolt on the door.
Folks as old as us should have passed this lusty phase.
Bed for us should merely be a place to laze.

So smooth your messy hair, dear, and try to look less daring.
No need to let the milkman in on fun times we’ve been sharing.
We should be sharing pastimes like t.v. and crossword puzzles.
Who would suspect that we are still into passion’s nuzzles?
So in spite of all the cheap jokes, no milkman will succeed me.
When it comes to filling orders, my wife still seems to need me!

Prompts for today are dawn, suit, platitude and plus.

Poor Timing

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photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash. Used with permission.

Poor Timing

She kept her heart protected securely in a box
bound up with heavy chains and secured by keys and locks
so no one could purloin it. No one could even try.
All potential lovers were forced to pass her by.
Not for her two entities entwined into one.
As other women sought their mates, she was content with none.

She never walked the nuptial aisle. No vows were ever said.
Never spread her gown out upon the wedding bed.
Never succumbed to childbirth. Never soothed the brow
of a fevered toddler and never until now
regretted what she’d missed in life by sealing tight the gate
that at last she’s throwing open, but, alas, it is too late.

Prompt words for today are purloin, box and entty. These are all the prompt words posted now and actually, Ragtag’s prompt of purloin is from yesterday–posted too late for me to use it then. I’m going on a four day writing intensive with a friend to work on the book I’ve been putting off for so long, so I won’t be posting again until Monday, but Forgottenman has generously agreed to repost some of my old poems each day on my blog for me—possibly things from so long ago that we’ve all forgotten them, so hope you drop by and have a look. See you on Monday!!! xoxoo

Dental Intermissions

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Image from Pinterest.

Dental Intermissions                                  

There’s nothing quite so fundamental
when it comes to matters dental
as the fact that teeth gone missing
mar the esthetics of kissing.

It’s doubtful that a dental gap
would land a lass upon the lap
of any lad whose reminiscing
will be done with s’s hissing.

Potential lovers tend to hate
suitors of the toothless state.
Better they should duplicate
those teeth that happened to vacate

those facial places deep inside
the mouths wherein they should reside.
Teeth should be natives of the jaws
that reside within the maws

of suitors that might deign to woo—
to hug and kiss and bill and coo.
In short, what lass does less than censure
a suitor who forgets his denture?

 

Prompt words today are missing, duplicate, native, fundamental and doubtful.

Mourning Matins

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Mourning Matins

Lately,
it is nightbirds

who prematurely voice
the matins of my day.

I keep knocking myself
against hard surfaces

and all my wounds
are in the shapes of hearts.

Anyone more emotional than you
might feel my pain.

This caring for you
is not simple anymore.

I arise too early
and it makes the day too long.

Prompt words for today are simplicity, anyone, emotional, matinal and caring. Also, for dVerse Poets and Bird of the Day.

Tropical Gig

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Tropical Gig

A cricket and a katydid in need of some excitement
when the cold winds started, and with no other incitement,
set out on upon a sea journey, their ship an old guitar.
(It wasn’t very roomy. Oh, but it was yar!)

They christened her as Lulabelle after an old amor.
They thought they’d sail the whole wide world from shore to shore to shore.
Setting off from Mexico, they drifted with the breeze,
their water and provisions stacked up around their knees.

The cricket sang such lullabies. The katydid chimed in,
a catfish as a tagalong stroked rhythms on its fin.
Guileless in their motives, they sought no fame nor riches.
From port to port they drifted, with only minor glitches.

On Isla Mujeres, they met a small land crab
that had been used in research in an oceanic lab.
It lit up in the darkness with a thousand little lights.
And so they offered it a ride to light up starless nights.

They drifted off to Cuba atop an ocean swell,
telling all the stories that they had to tell.
Traitorous loves and conquests, flight through the summer night.
The sand crab told of capture after a valiant fight.

The cricket had such stories of houses he’d been in.
The katydid could mime a leaf: long and green and thin.
When they made their music, the crab just clacked its claws.
All night they chirred and clattered—sometimes without a pause.

By the time they got to Cuba, they had a stirring act.
They drew the gulls and pelicans to listen—it’s a fact!
They got a gig in Havana, playing in a bar,
drawing folks to hear them from both near and far.

The cricket’s name is Chirrup and and Katydid is Slim.
The Crab’s name is Oblongus—based on the shape of him.
Their act can be heard nightly in the ocean dunes,
where they will serenade you with their blended tunes.

 

 

 

Prompt words for today are guitar, guileless, traitor, research and excitement.

Why Second-hand Adventure is Good Enough for Me

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(Click photos to enlarge and read captions.)

Bit of a climb.
Finally, happy campers.
In the begiinning, explorations and good times.
The morning after!

Why Second-hand Adventure is Good Enough for Me

There was a time in college when we thought we would go camping.
It took  a lot of packing and some walking and some stamping
to rid the site of red ants and to cut away the bushes,
to find a level spot for our bedrolls and our tushes.
It’s good that we were youthful, and accustomed to reversal,
for when it came to camping, this was our first rehearsal.

None of us were nature girls. This was our trial run.
We came for something different, just to have some fun.
We brought a giant bottle of cheap rosé and chips.
Some white bread and bologna. Some mustard and some dips.
Our hopes were grand and hopeful. We were fervid in our dreams.
We lugged all our equipment down faint trails and forded streams.

Lugging a giant cooler, water and some some spray
in case there were mosquitos, slowly we made our way
down to small rude patch of ground that sloped down to the creek.
 My German Shepherd Gretchen went ahead of us to seek
out squirrels and other wildlife that she had a chance to get,
scouting ahead for creatures that might have posed a threat.

The day passed without conflict. We hiked and talked and ate.
We had no trepidation about what would be our fate.
Our night was spent less pleasantly as we slowly slipped
downward hour by hour until finally we dipped
our feet into the water of the creek just down the hill.
Certainly by sunrise, we three had had our fill

of the stones and bugs and soakings that we all had  faced
as all night long my dog barked, ran back and forth and chased
imaginary creatures hidden in the dark
In the end, our camping wasn’t such a lark.
We had a hasty breakfast and as we packed up our gear,
we apologized to others camping far and near

for my dog’s disturbance for the whole long night.
from the first star’s appearance to the first morning light.
And then they told us something we hadn’t known before.
We were camping in bear territory, and they said, “What’s more,
if you had foodstuff with you, your dog did you a favor.
Bears are very partial to young ladies of your flavor!”
And so that first time camping turned out to be our last.
Our setting up went rather slow, but breaking down went fast.
We packed our car and sped right down those twisted mountain roads,
right back to the city. Right back to our abodes.
I gave the dog a juicy bone and flipped on the TV,
sure that second-hand adventure was good enough for me.

 

Prompt words today are fervid, reverse, youthful, giant and camping.

This was a real-life adventure with my good friends Jean and Joan Lenzi who were twins and my college roommates. R.I.P. Jean and Joan. We had many adventures together and this was one of the first ones.

Calling Trump

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Calling Trump

No remnant of credibility that he might have had
at the start of his dark odyssey clings to this foolish cad.
Claiming to solve problems that his actions just exacerbate,
mere echoes of his words still chide enough that they infuriate.

Of the seven deadly sins, he’s had a taste of all.
When, if they are so deadly, will they bring about his fall?
Lust and gluttony? For sure. Greed? No doubt about it.
Sloth and wrath, envy and pride? What sane man would doubt it?

He’s left his presidential desk, preferring his own throne.
He borrows other people’s deeds to claim them as his own.
He manufactures science, quoting no valid source.
Lessens the force of hurricanes while altering their course.

There’s nothing that he cannot do, at least in his own mind.
To serve his ends, he’ll put entire countries in a bind.
He’ll trump the hand of anyone. This game is not so hard.
If it’s lacking in his hand, he’ll just invent the card!

 

Today’s prompt words are infuriate, borrow, odyssey, remnant and seven.