She always yelled at him
before her grand entrance.
“Harry, crank up that wind machine!”
Then she’d wind up those hips
get the feathers quiverin’
and strut out on stage,
fans strategically placed.
She wanted to entrance the blokes,
not wound their swoonin’ heart.
Sally Rand, born Helen Gould Beck, was an American burlesque dancer most noted for her ostrich fan dances and her balloon bubble dances. She was mot active from 1925 to 1979.
What’s one year more?
I am NOT a dinosaur!
I’m thrilled to turn seventy-four,
let me give that an underscore.
Some decry growing old,
equate grey hair and wrinkles
with creeping mold,
and simply cannot be consoled.
Not as nimble with a few pains?
Hands mapped in purple veins?
Come on people, grab the reins!
What more could you ask for
than to celebrate one year more
with your family and people you adore?
So I’ll put on my tap shoes for a loud dance,
blow out the candles at the very first chance.
Then I’ll give my husband a meaningful glance
and celebrate seventy four with a night of romance!
Written for OLN – Open Link Night – at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. OLN means we can choose any one poem to post today – no specific prompt, form, rhyme scheme, or length. And since today is indeed my birthday, I wrote this little ditty. I do believe it is a privilege to grow old. I continue to be thankful for every day.
April showers can be dour
but they have a special power
bringing to us May-time flowers.
Now outside, no need to cower,
fling off masks and smile for hours!
In celebration of the new CDC announcement and Governor Baker’s announcement regarding masks outdoors!
bother me with sunlight today,
streaming through windows
this crisp cool day.
Bother me with good news,
happiness smiles
and a baby’s grin.
Bother me with a romantic tale
full of daffodil cups,
a good merlot
and love tendered kisses.
Please, do bother me!
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De hosts, asking us to use the word “bother” or a form of the word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Pub opens at 3:00 PM Boston time – come imbibe some words with us!
Also posted at Day 19 NaPoWriMo. April is National Poetry Writing Month and the challenge is to write a poem every day of the month.
Box of colored chalk in hand,
hmmm…. how do I do this again?
First, pick the perfect sidewalk spot.
White chalk, start close,
draw one square.
Yellow chalked rectangle on top,
divide it into two and three.
White chalk again,
I like consistency.
Draw square four, same as one.
Green rectangle right above that,
evenly make into five and six.
White me a seven.
Orange rectangle next,
divide precisely into eight and nine.
Sky blue ten crowns them all,
all squares point to heaven.
Brush straggly gray hair off face.
Ooh yes, scratch nose where it itches.
Small rock in hand, stand steady, stand tall.
Neighbor man walks by and smiles,
stares at my colorful cheeks and nose.
“Hi” I say. “Care to play?”
“Nah” he says, “but you go ahead.”
So . . . stoop and throw . . .
hopscotch through my private rainbow
right on up to that promising blue.
A “List Poem” for the NaPoWriMo Day 9 prompt. Image from Pixabay.com
This human being is . . .
stabilized.
Once frisky, galloping,
romping o’er fields afar.
Ran the mighty race too,
round the curve,
thrilled by the chase.
Set out to pasture in 2012 –
slowed down, but still free to roam.
2020 came and all hell broke loose.
Who knew I’d be corralled?
Merry-go-round bound.
Same path up and down,
days blurred, round and round,
going nowhere fast.
Even old nags need to be free.
Grease this damn pole!
Shoot me up and uncarousel me!
Little did I know
out to pasture or not,
the grass was always greener
wherever my hooves did trot.
For those of you not familiar with the title, it refers to the tv show Mr. Ed. It aired from 1961 to 1966. As inane as it sounds, Mr. Ed was a talking horse. I never could understand how the show ran for five years!
Kim is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She asks us to begin a poem with the line “This human being is…”
Have no idea why this concept popped into my head….other than the fact that for this past Covid year, we have mainly been corralled into our homes. Probably the most useless item we bought for the year 2020 was a Day Planner! And yes, I did rejuvenate (never say retire) in 2012. Photo from Pixabay.com So I guess you could say, Mr. Ed had nothing on me….considering my life as a horse!
Where have all the colors gone?
Long time passing.
Where have all the colors gone?
Long time ago.
Prussian Blue and Indian Red,
Blue Gray, Maize, and Green Blue.
Orange Red, Orange Yellow,
Flesh and Violet Blue,
Raw Umber and Mulberry too.
Long time passing. Long time ago.
Crayola’s first eight cost but a nickel,
presented in 1905.
Children were thrilled and color they did,
using Red, Green, Yellow, and Blue,
Black, Brown, Violet and Orange
Kids today need more to be tempted.
Enter Cerulean, Dandelion,
Fuschia and Bluetiful too.
Most clever and tastiest yet?
Yummy Jazzberry Jam.
My rose-colored glasses enjoy these hues
but one new color does confuse.
Ready for it? You’ll never guess.
It’s a bit strange, I do confess,
guaranteed to make you squirm.
The newest? And I do confirm,
it really, unbelievably is Inch Worm!
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets from around the globe where today Mish asks us to write from the perspective of colors. I’ve kind of gone off the beaten track with this…..but here’s some added history:
Cousins Edwin Binney and C. Harold Smith introduced the first box of Crayolas in 1905 and yes, they did cost a nickel. Over the years color names have come and gone….some in relation to societal attitudes. The color Flesh became Peach in 1962. Prussian Blue was introduced in 1949 but, figuring young children didn’t know anything about Prussia, it was changed to Midnight Blue in 1958. Indian Red was introduced in 1958 and it actually referred to a pigment that originated in India. The color’s name was changed to Chestnut in 1999….but soon after, a disclaimer was made warning children not to try to roast the color or any crayons over an open fire because they would melt and children could be burned. I suppose this warning was in reference to Nat King Cole’s popular The Christmas Song which opened with the line “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.” And yes, Inch Worm is a real Crayola color!
I should also add, apologies to Peter, Paul and Mary for changing the words of their popular song, Where Have all the Flowers Gone. Image from Pixabay.com Information on the history of Crayolas mainly from the article “5 Times Crayola Retired Its Crayons” by Paul Davidson and from Wikipedia.
i.
Acrobat by trade,
she tumbled her way
through the three-ringed circus
everyone else called life.
ii.
She was not a cook,
the Cuisinart soufflé pan
Calphalon pots and
ten-speed blender,
simply signs of her optimistic soul.
iii.
Potter by trade
she worked the wheel.
Hands wet, shaping clay –
wishing her life was as easy to mold.
iv.
He lives his life as a barnacle would,
clinging tenaciously to faith
in an eroding world.
v.
Architect by trade
he drew blueprints for his life.
Meticulous plans.
Until she walked in one sultry night,
right angles upset by curves.
vi.
Waste not, want not.
She’d heard that all her life,
lived by it too.
Christmas wreath upon her head,
ready for the Easter parade.
Written for dVerse, Open Link Night.
Known for dabbling in couture,
Dora decorated herself
like you would your house,
mimicking holiday seasons.
They thought her daft
and could only laugh
as she walked down the street
in a Christmas wreath,
at their annual Easter parade.
Her reward?
Most Unusual Bonnet.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. It’s Quadrille Monday and De asks us to use the word “dabble” in our quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. I went for humor today — figure we can all use a little chuckle in these upsetting, challenging and unusual times.
He sat straight-backed, alert,
surrounded by canes, walkers
tv guides, checkerboard games
and the people that accompany them
in a place like this.
Hands folded, he waited patiently
for the last strands of that age-old song.
Some high pitched warblers sang off pitch,
hunched over the tinny piano
pulled out for occasions like this.
Balloons hovered above his head
as candles dripped life-time moments
onto pastel fondant flowers.
He spied the festive paper plates,
too thin for the thick slab he desired.
And so I asked the centenarian,
what is the secret of your longevity?
Well sonny, I always say,
close your eyes to dream.
Just make sure you open them wide
to watch where you step.
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Bjorn will host as we go live today from 3 to 5 PM Boston time. Those who post a poem will have the opportunity to read it aloud, if they choose to do so. Come share the fun, connect names with faces and hear the voices of many dVersers!
lillian the home poet 