Category Archives: Poetry

Poems in many categories: Loss, NaPoWriMo

Ragtag Hattie

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Ragtag Hattie

Though her clothes are old and ratty,
her cast-off hats tattered and gnatty,
and her aroma eau de catty,
still her style is somewhat natty.
She has a certain savoir faire,
a childlike, careless stylish air.
Silk scarves and clanking jewelry
devoid of runway foolery.

Diaphanous and parachutey,
silk nightgowns might do double duty
as ballgowns were she ever asked
to functions one arrives at masked
in Dior dresses  or black tie.
In lieu of that, she’ll just get by
strolling the streets in finery
gained from her dumpster minery.

Onlookers may think her batty—
clothes so rumpled, hair so matty.
all of her gloriously tatty—
her ballet slippers so pitter-patty
scuffling through the city streets,
greeting everyone she meets.

She is a fixture in our town
with a certain wide renown.
Pointed out to visiting friends,
her unique presence somehow lends
a flavor to the streets she walks.
She does not mind the stares and gawks.

Until one day she is not there—
her birdlike plumage, strange and rare
flown to a runway far above–
a blown-off hat, a single glove
left on the stairway where she fell—
to become this legend that I tell.

 

 

The prompt today is natty.

Dressed to Kill

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Dressed to Kill

Ladies have loved a uniform
since writing was in cuniform.
They’ve flirted with each man they’ve met
with shoulders garbed in epaulet.
No telling what the reason may be
why every serviceman they see
with stripes and bars upon his chest
is the man they like the best.

A Scottish guardsman who’s well-built
may show his legs off in a kilt,
whereas an Arab man who’s urban
struts his stuff beneath a turban.
Cops on their beats and Maitre d’s
have all the ladies that they please
when they don the prescribed clothes
in which they are assigned to pose.

Some women even make a grab
for guys they see in olive drab.
Ushers in jackets and in gloves
have been known to find new loves
in their darkened theater aisles
as they exercise their wiles
escorting with a liveried arm
those special ladies they seek to charm.

German gents who seek attention,
it’s hardly necessary to mention,
when they’re wanting to be chosen,
don a pair of lederhosen.
And sailors find they rarely lose out 
when they get their navy blues out.
It’s true a full-regalia’d guy
is sure to catch the feminine eye.

Be it a robe or regimental,
there’s simply something elemental
about a man who’s dressed to kill—
for women cannot get their fill
of a gentleman in monkey suit.
Unsuited men just can’t refute
that they suffer real regrets
that that man in epaulets
gets all the women that he gets!

The prompt today was “uniform.”  (image of Barney Fife from internet.)

On the Precipice

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On the Precipice

Toes peeking over, eyes cast away.
I do not want to look today.
Time enough when time is over.
It’s true I’ve ceased to be a rover,
for though I’ve seen the Nile’s beginning,
I can feel my chances thinning
for ever standing at its end.
I’m feeling too close to the bend
to chance the risks travel might take.
I’m living less for living’s sake.

My house and garden fill my world,
increasingly. My life is curled
fast on itself more frequently.
“Becoming” has turned into “be.”
It is not giving up on life
so much as drawing back from strife.
Surely, now’s the time for this,
as I approach that big abyss.

Those of faith are sure they know
the glorious ending to this show
we’ve seen via nature’s invitation;
and yet the minister’s oration
you must admit, is speculation.
That’s why as I stand toe-to-air,
I have no need to see what’s there.
Whatever’s written far below,
it’s where at last, we all will go.

The prompt word today was “precipice.”

Hesitation

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Hesitation

As I recite my Sunday Psalms,
two butterflies alight like balms
upon the leper’s outstretched palms.

Thus nature intervenes and calms
the remainder of my qualms.
I fill the beggar’s hands with alms.

 

The prompt word today was “qualm.”

Cinderella at Age 50 (Favorite Poets Series, # 1)

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I’d like to shift focus now and then by posting favorite poems by favorite poets. For my first post in this series, I’ve chosen my friend Margaret Van Every, who is someone adept at saying the most in the fewest number of words. Her work is always reflective, original and entertaining, with that small twist that is the reader’s reward.

Cinderella at Age 50

After years of crashing balls in borrowed slippers,
if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:
men are like shoes.
Some you can break in, some you endure.
Those rigid as glass
you shed as you dash for the door.
Some you can live with, some you can’t.
Alas, we never know until we try them.

The shoes of my life have sorely disappointed me,
but ah, how good they looked and felt when new.
In the end they hobbled me, every one.
The closet’s full of them, barely worn.

Take wisdom, not heart, from this barefoot crone,
and shut your ears to ladies with wings;
If a prince comes calling with a shoe your size,
chances are slim it’ll fit tomorrow;
and the maid who accepts the pas de deux
suffers the dance in a crystal shoe.

                                                ––Margaret Van Every

 


Margaret Van Every writes poetry, short fiction, and nonfiction. She has authored three collections of poetry: the bilingual A Pillow Stuffed with Diamonds/Una Almohada Rellena con Diamantes (Librophilia) 2011; Saying Her Name (Librophilia) 2012; and holding hands with a stranger (Librophilia) 2014. She publishes widely in journals devoted to the ancient Japanese 5-line form known as tanka. In 2010 she moved to Ajijic, Jalisco, from Tallahassee, Florida, and is a founding member of the Not Yet Dead Poets Society.

Lekythos (Flash 55)

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Lekythos

When the shape of this poem fell naturally into the shape of a jar, I was intrigued to find that the lekythos was used both for oil to annoint the bride and the dead, and so it naturally supported the theme of my poem.

The assignment was to write a poem of exactly 55 words on the theme “extremely close” or “worlds apart.”  This poem reflects all three criteria.

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Time Rush

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Time Rush

Although I’d love to pause and take the time
to create an adequate rhyme,
Alas, I must get on the road
to drive back to my own abode.

The piles surround me. I must go.
But, alas, I’m moving slow.
With a car to finish loading,
I’ve developed a sense of foreboding.

When I’m Skyped by my best friend,
I know my luck is at an end.
Yes, my planning most precise
would have turned out very nice

except for one fact I forgot.
Now in a time-crunch I am caught.
The cause of all my frantic ravings?
Forgot to switch to Daylight Savings!

 

It’s true.  Mexico changes at a different time than the rest of North America.  Although I thought I’d be checking out precisely at 11 a.m., it seems that the time will be noon.  But, the fridge is cleaned, floor swept, Morrie precautions removed, except for his long lead that has rusted shut around the post.  Oh woe.  Bye for now.  I’m off to the road.

The prompt today was “pause.”

Passing Through

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Passing Through

Do not jostle for your places, for you’re fully in our view.
We have the V.I.P. seats here in your cosmic zoo.
Perhaps you sense our presence, but there’s nothing you can do
to see us for it’s set up so we’re only viewing you.

We see who you turn into each time you’re born anew.
One lifetime you’re a Muslim, and another you’re a Jew—
your choice of birth determined by your placement in the queue.
It’s purely arbitrary which person will be you.

You might become the very thing that now you most eschew,
but there’s no one to object to. There’s no one you can sue,
for the world that you’re reborn to was made by folks like you,
and the life you’ve made for who you’ll be might be a life you’ll rue.

This revelation should not come out of the blue.
It’s one that’s often explained by the mystic or guru.
If you love this lifetime where the cat’s meow is you,
please hold onto your passport, for you’re only passing through.

 

The prompt today is passport.

Good Fortune

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Good Fortune

How lucky I’ve been in the bad luck I’ve had,
for no matter how dangerous, life-threatening, bad,
I’ve always come out both alive and still kicking
whenever my life chose to give me a licking.

The prompt word today is luck.

Romancing the Muse

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The Not Yet Dead Poets Society new Anthology is now available on Amazon.

Here is a link: https://www.amazon.com/Romancing-Muse-Selected-Poems-Chapalas/dp/1540749967/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1488924021&sr=8-2&keywords=kenneth+salzmann