A haiku for this historic day . . .

Coral flamboyance,
long legs and necks, all squawking.
Flamingo mosh pit.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Lisa provides a choice of three specific prompts, all with reference to animals. I chose the option to write about an animal, considering its nature.

A group of flamingoes is called a flamboyance. There is a metaphorical allusion here….might be more clear if flamingoes were orange….or if while madly cackling and squawking they wore red baseball hats.

A Lesson in French

She did WHAT????
That’s gasporrific!
With the gardener?

On the curb,
outside the pub????
When was that?

Did he know?

The honey
on bland porridge.
But beware.

Gaspalicious can turn into
far too quickly.

it’s best to
fermer la bouche!

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. De asks us to include the word “gasp” or a form of the word in our quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words sans title. I had a bit of fun with the word. Image by Sam Williams from Pixabay

At 76 years of age, the phrase, “fermer la bouche” is one of the few phrases/words I remember from my three years of high school French. It means “shut-up” or more politely, “close your mouth”. Other phrases I can still say in French are
Where is the library?
Please pass the butter.
My name is Lillian.
Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose.
Hmmmm…..don’t think I should depend on my French if we travel to Paris!

All the World’s a Stage (with apologies to Will Shakespeare)

So many footlights burned out
spotlight leaning askew
curtains removed, scrim gone
proscenium arch stands stark.

Program says Act Three.
Audience hushed, anticipates tragedy.
Director expects me, in shrouded black,
to slump upon the floor.

The script be damned . . .
it’s my chance to be a star!!!
Black over-sized poncho
is thrown to the floor.

Behold my sequined skin tight leotard,
fish net stockings over varicose veins.
Audience gasps at my tapping frenzy ~
shuffle ball changes, wings, and Rockette kicks.

Grinning, laughing, 
I finally decide.
This addendum to the script
shall joyously end!

I wink at the conductor, astounded in the pit.
Timpanist catches my drift
and gloriously booms
as I exit like a flying dervish
to joyous hilarious applause.

While the poem is not about me, I did take tap lessons from the age of 4 until my senior year in high school. I still have my own tap shoes (not the ones in the photo)!

Choices At My Age . . .

. . . my to-do list is
much too mundane to do.
* Laundry
* PT exercises
* Vacuum
* Clean out drawers

So I sit, pen in hand
page patiently waiting to be filled,
inscribed with delectable words.
Words like bubblicious,
fantasia, pomegranate,
or perhaps persimmon.

Images dormant in my mind,
clamor to appear on the page.
Orange sherbet sun,
shapeshifter clouds.
Raucous carousel horses
racing round and round a blurred world.

Shall I take my pen in hand?
Or grasp that vacuum’s wand.
Consider the choice.
Attack cobwebs in corners of the house?
Nope. Not today.
Much more productive
to clear cobwebs from my brain!

Posted for Open Link Night LIVE at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

Come join us LIVE between 3 and 4 PM EST today, Thursday Jan 19th by clicking here……and then clicking on the link provided on the post. You’ll be connected to audio and video to meet folks across many time zones and countries. Come to read a poem of your choice OR just to listen!

We’ll also have OLN LIVE on Saturday January 21st from 10 to 11 AM EST. Click here and then click on the link provided for Saturday’s session. Hope to see many of you!

Two Aphorisms Created for Our Times

Life is a card game,
play your hand wisely.
Seems like we’re caught
in a never-ending bridge game.
Trump suit named,
trick after trick after trick played.
Anyone ready to change the game?

When parade horses leave a trail of shit,
sweepers must follow.

Seems like we’re caught
in a never-ending parade
of show ponies
with far too few sweepers
willing to clean up the mess.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Ana returns to dVerse and asks us to consider Gnomic poetry which is the practice of moralizing in verse. We can start or end our poem with an aphorism; create our own aphorisms; or be inspired by a myth. We have many choices in how to approach the prompt but the “focal point” of our poem must be a moral or assert a philosophical position on life. And she tells us that just because we’re moralizing, doesn’t mean we must be serious. We can add a bit of humor or irony. Images from Pixabay.com

A Lunker or Two

Spelunker by day
lady’s man by night.
Stalactites his game,
caves his domain.

Met his match at the local pub.
Spellunker by night,
scrabble her game
words her fame.

Challenged him
after a pint or two.
She won the game
he won her heart.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa hosts Quadrille Monday and asks us to use the word “spell” somewhere within the body of our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Had a little fun with this one.
PS: a spelunker is a person who explores caves. Image from Pixabay.com

Overheard on the Corner in Ptown

Walking down Provincetown’s main street,
I passed two men sitting on a bench
chatting in front of the courthouse.
It’s a popular place to people watch.

I heard one man say to the other
“I have a list of things I’m not allowed to buy.”
I started wondering,
what might that list include?

Possibly . . . M&Ms with peanuts,
wine spritzers and flavored beer.
Tie-dyed tee shirts, bumper stickers,
and coffee mugs for mom, dad,
grandpa, grandma, best brother
or best sister.
Cape Cod engraved silver spoons.
Salt and pepper shakers
in the shape of whales.
And possibly starfish from the shell shop?
Because he already has too many.

“So what would I buy if I had that list,”
I asked my spouse after writing this poem.
In his inimitable way, he simply said,
“Use your imagination.”

Image: photo of sign taken on our walk yesterday to the far East side of town, where automobiles first enter Provincetown.

We’re just going to look . . .

Kissing us
sloppy licks,
just one of her
silly tricks.
This peppy
stole our
in one short

Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 23. Today we are to write a poem in the style of Kay Ryan: short, snappy, lots of rhyme and sound play. Our daughter’s family went to “just look” at a litter of new puppies at a friend’s house. . .they now have a new bundle of energy in their home!