Package somewhat frayed
wrapping creased, well worn,
shelf-life unknown.
Sensibility
seems supercilious.
Color me fuchsia, chartreuse
and buttercup yellow bright.
Spot light my abilities
and watch me, join me.
Tap dance into footlights.
Ignore splayed feet,
creped skin.
Laugh yesterdays past.
Smile me todays
and watch me grin.
Video from April – a tap dancing lesson with my granddaughter!
Squint your eyes,
tantamount to willful aperture.
Unsee dissonance, the ugly, the bad.
Visualize instead the good wherever it may be.
Work it. Become it. Traverse only there.
X marks the spot and if you believe, it can be found.
I’m hosting Meet The Bar Thursday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. At MTB, a particular form of poetry becomes the prompt. Today, I’m asking folks to write an Alphabet Sestet! A poem of 6 lines that uses an alphabetical sequence that appears in the first word of each line. Hence, I’ve used the alphabetical sequence S-T-U-V-W-X in my poem. The first word of each line, begins with the corresponding letter of the alphabetical sequence. Line 1 starts with S; line 2 starts with T; line 3 starts with U; etc. Any alphabetical sequence may be used: writer’s choice!
Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us. It’s easy as A-B-C, 1-2-3 in the words of the Jackson Five’s wonderful early hit! 🙂 Image from Pixabay.com
Time’s long shadow
scats and sings.
That ole pendulum
forever swings.
Doo-ya doo-ya
doo-ya bop.
Tickety tickety
tickety tock.
That grim reaper,
got no soul.
But shit my honey,
he’s got control.
Doo-ya doo-ya
doo-ya bop.
Tickety tickety
tickety tock
Now listen good
while I’m tellin’ you.
Doo-ya doo-ya
doo-ya boo.
Live it up baby
while we can.
Stompin’ and dancin’
that’s the plan.
Jazz it up baby,
come on now.
Do some lovin’
fore he takes his bow.
Snappin’ and poppin’
and rockin’ strong.
Singin’ doo-ya doo-ya
doo-ya bop.
Ain’t no way
we’re ready to stop.
Sharing with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, on Open Link Thursday. Image by freepik.com
Quit yer bitchin’
and scratch where yer itchin’.
However-many years you’ve got,
light more damn candles
and quit yer complainin’.
Quit yer terminable thinkin’
‘bout pushin’ up daisies.
You best be lookin’
to pick ‘em instead.
Water ‘em good and
scratch where yer itchin’.
Happy 7th year anniversary dVerse! Back from our summer respite, Grace hosts Quadrille Monday, asking us to include the word “itch” or a form of the word in our exactly 44 word poem, sans title. dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join our anniversary celebration by posting your own quadrille, or just reading the creativity of others. Photo from pixabay.com
Like caulking
that sticking stuff,
hugs seal.
Cement friendships
for the passage of time.
Mountain mist shroud
clings wet and opaque.
Paths disappear.
Dampened earth waits
as sun inevitably shifts.
Atmosphere and temperature warm.
Suffocating clamminess transforms.
Life-giving moisture droplets
kiss ever-greening leaves.
Benchmarks reappear.
Written for dVerse where Michelle asks us to write words of advice, in poetic form. Photos from trip to Alaska, several years ago.
. . . solitudinous people person
purposely pollyannish
collector of dear days
one man woman
circle of love rippled wide.
Color me
a waving turning sunflower
old-fashioned holly hock
dancing daffodil
never lily of the valley down.
Find me next season
on your darkest nights.
I shall be the newest star
east of that famous north one
or west . . .
you’ll find me
because you’ll understand,
even in death
my geography skills
will still be severely lacking
. . . but I promise,
I’ll be there.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Amaya reminds us that last Thursday was the 199th anniversary of Walt Whitman’s birth. She asks us to write a poem somewhat in the spirit of Whitman’s Song of Myself….something personal as in an ad to someone who knows us well…to meet us perhaps, at a later date. I should add, after rereading my poem here, I am healthy, well, happy and expect to live for many many more years!
My mind says do it.
Muscle memory falters,
too many springs have sprung,
the daffodil kind.
Too many candles have crowded flowers,
the icing kind.
Life’s become a carousel ride.
I’m the unbolted horse,
slowly getting up from down
moving slower still from down to up.
Au naturel, gold gilding eroded by time
ultimately rounding the bend.
Walking to my once busy house,
I imagine that merry-go-round
music wooing, colors shimmering.
I smile as my mind reminds me done that,
and I pick up my pace,
kicking through the autumn leaves.
Day 11 of Napowrimo. April is national poetry writing month. Today’s prompt includes these words, “If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”
Sunny-Side Up Daze
Serves days of happiness to the populous.
one slash of rain
dash of peppered lightning
stir lightly
fold in one rumble of thunder
set aside for eight hours of sunshine
Goes well with laughter and song.
Written in response to Misky’s #67 Twiglet prompt. A twiglet is a short phrase, meant to prompt a flow. In this case, the twiglet given was “slash of rain.”
when you marry your best friend
knowing he is the love of your life. . .
when your heart expands
as your family does the same. . .
when your love is so strong
that together, you could travel
to the end of the earth
and back . . .
and you do.
Photo from Antarctica. Days before we rounded Cape Horn and ferried to the last light house on the earth. An amazing journey – through the last almost 48 years with this man . . . and to the end of the earth!
