She lurched through life
masked as some kind of bandit
hoping to steal affection,

waiting impatiently
for the mardi gras of life
to throw beads her way.

She stumbled on embankments
peripheral vision hampered,
mask drawn too close to her soul.

Glancing downward,
sun blinding, glare too harsh,
she saw the rat staring from gutter’s grate.

Tomorrow would be yesterday.
No map to guide her.
she finally gave up hope.

wanderratte, rattus norvegicus, common rat, brown rat, norway rat

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Mish is asking us to write a poem that somehow deals with the word “mask.”

Abdication By Your Design

I decree:
I am the Queen of Cooland.

See me shimmer and shine.
Bling me with stardust.
Bring me gold and silver sugar crystals
to savor upon my tongue.
Bring me dime store diamonds
glitter glue, sequins, and bangles too.

This bench, my throne.
This broken branch, my staff.
I fling riches upon my subjects,
kernals of golden corn their joy.
Why do you not share your riches with me?
No bows, no smiles, no understanding.

Can you not see me?
How can you pretend I do not exist?
My royalty wrapped in newsprint,
I wear the remains of your misdeeds.
Can you not feel shame
as I mutter my royal decree?

Pigeons shit on my command.
They coo at my feet,
jewel my crown.
I am the Queen of Cooland.
This is my decree.
The End.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Paul hosts today, asking us to write a poem that somehow deals with “the end.” Pub opens at 3 pm.  Come imbibe some words with us!

For Sale

Hands scraped, pulled and peeled.
Stripped bare in three hectic days
she gave up secrets long unseen.
Layer upon layer
she revealed her past.

Mauve moons, café scenes
wedgewood-blue stenciled designs
pale rose buds the last.
Memories removed, she stood
waiting, exposed

until they came again.
Colors slathered, rolled.
Taupe, beige, and palest grey.
Senses dulled, she cowered,
pale in disbelief.

Windows wide-eyed,
she watched
as strangers came to gawk.
Pried her private parts,
talked as if she was not there.

Once so full of life and love,
a shell of what she was.
just a house
lifeless on the streets.

stockvault-pattern-grunge-texture125430studio-g-rosebud-fabric-chintz-f0299-01-9037-pCafe-Wallpaper-5d28402a77ca93dbc253970d3a5642819  MPC00036974-2grey