Some days
I want to mail our politicians
spiked shoes.
The kind with cleats
like athletes wear.
To be sure-footed in muck
and muddied fields.
Atalanta was a famous Greek huntress and an exceptional athlete. She was also a favourite of the goddess Artemis because of her survival instinct, impressive skills, courage and noble character. Image from Pixabay.com
Fair warning, dear shadow of mine,
tonight we tinker with time.
Clocks are set anew,
springing ahead one hour.
I tell you now, dear shadow of mine,
hoping that when we walk tomorrow
you shall not lag behind.
Day light savings time starts tomorrow. image from pixabay.com
Lady Ursula fancied herself a star,
nay, bigger and better than that.
She with ostentatious tastes,
constellation better than most.
Daily she ate delectable treats.
Croissants, caviar, and fine patés
berries and truffles, chocolates too,
all as she sampled the finest of ports.
And as was her habit before the first snow,
into her four poster bed she’d go.
Curtains drawn, she nestled in down,
appetite sated, she slumbered to sleep.
N’er did she stir ‘till a bright April morn,
when bluebirds would warble and sun stream in.
Slowly she’d struggle to open her eyes
push herself upright, sit tall in her bed.
Suddenly famished she licked her lips
and stretching she toggled the service bell.
They chuckled and smirked hearing that sound
for they understood the secret she lived.
Their Lady Ursula, no Ursa was she
rather an Ursus she really be.
It’s OLN at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. This means we are free to post any poem of our choosing – no prompt. I had a little fun with this one. Hope you enjoy 🙂
Tis the star lit night my dear,
we lie entwined, our lips so near.
Our spirits joined in dreams to soar
until you break the spell to snore.
No soft sighs, you sputter snort.
I toss, I turn, till last resort
when love is lost in raucous sound
and need for sleep is so profound,
I trippingly flee our marriage bed
collapse undone, on couch instead.
And when the sky is lit with dawn
to your side, again I’m drawn.
Morning comes, you wake refreshed
our bodies once again enmeshed.
You’re ready to greet the day,
I’m ready to hit the hay.
Image from Pixabay.com
Trash art.
But not to me.
Paint brush body
bottle opener arms.
Metal disk eyes
always open.
Clock innard springs
‘neath blooming heart.
Curved metal strip
forever smile.
They say
art speaks to you.
Pull yourself together,
use what you’ve got.
Uniquely assembled,
bloom where you are.
Wear a perky hat
eyes wide open,
smile at the world
and they’ll smile back.
I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets – which means I create the prompt. And today’s prompt is “Come hang with me!” Choose something hanging in your house (on a wall, from a bookcase, in your closet, etc) and write a poem about it! I’ve asked that folks include a photo so we can see what they’re writing about. This lovely piece of “trash art” hangs in my study, on the side of my desk. I see her every morning and she always makes me smile! Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
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.
Pastry chef by trade,
she specialized in delicate souffles
risen to perfection.
Until he stormed out that night,
slammed the door hard –
and everything collapsed.
I rarely write the prompt first…but this time I must. Bjorn is hosting dVerse and we’re to use onomatopoeia in our poem – words that imitate sounds. Think “pluck” or “splatter.” He really wants us to concentrate on the SOUND of our poem. SO – in that spirit, don’t read my poem below. Sing it to the tune of The Farmer in the Dell – if you remember that from your childhood. Apologies in advance to those who don’t appreciate political satire/humor.
With Apologies to the Farmer in the Dell
The donald in the dell
The donald in the dell
hi-ho, the derry-o
the donald isn’t well.
Splitter, splatter, splat
Pluck it, plaudit, pratt
hi-ho, the derry-o
his lies are tit for tat.
Duplicitous as hell
His double-dealings smell
hi-ho, the derry-o
the donald isn’t well.
The donald gathers rats
The rats eat the cheese
hi-ho, the derry-o
the donald is a sleaze.
Tiny Tina Twinkle
flit about the pumpkin patch.
Her little voice like merry bells
she readied for the snatch.
Magic dust in her wee hand
she sought out Peter’s wife.
Took her from that horrid shell
to share her fairy’s life.
In response to Misky’s Twiglet # 85, “voice like merry bells.” A Twiglet is a short phrase or a word. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. In a whimsical mood today 🙂 And posted, although rather late, to dVerse OLN with Kim hosting.
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
