Quick
wiggles
brought
giggles.
Kissing us
with
sloppy licks,
just one of her
silly tricks.
This peppy
puppy
stole our
hearts
in one short
hour.
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!
My dear okra plant, you are absolutely divine.
Hibiscus cousin, slow to grow,
ultimately sprouting green tendrils
and yellow blossoms fine.
Soon ‘tis time to harvest and prepare
your lantern shaped, bright green pods.
First I wash, then gently pat dry.
Slice crosswise with considerable care.
I heat the olive oil until very hot,
then slide your delicate sections into pan.
‘Tis time to sauté, tossing and turning
until beautiful slime coats the pot.
Carefully removed from heat,
I carry you slowly across the kitchen floor.
Reach screen door to our outdoor porch,
out I slip, without missing a beat.
Then, mustering all my culinary style,
I heave you onto the compost pile.
Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 20. Today’s prompt is to anthropomorphize a food, perhaps one you feel conflicted about. Phots from Pixabay.com
And added to dVerse, Tuesday Poetics where Misky has asked us to write about food.
This twelve-week old puppy
melts my heart,
tickles my funny bone
and tests my aging knees.
On the floor to tug and pull
then up to retrieve that bouncing ball.
It rolled to a place unknown to you,
where only I can stretch and reach.
Then on the floor to redirect.
Chew this toy, or this one here.
No . . . no . . .
not that shoe.
Then up again to attach your leash,
and out the door to poop and pee.
Then on the floor to toss and fetch,
then up again for kibbles and treats.
Then squatting down I attach your leash
and out the door we go to pee.
Not now you say, then tug to run
to greet the robins and have some fun.
And when it’s time for you to nap
tired out from all that serious play,
you circle twice and then curl up
to sleep and dream inside your crate.
And I, my friend, so tired too,
need no circles to find the couch.
I sleep, one ear half-alert
until I hear you stir and bark.
Then we start all over again.
Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 17. Today the prompt is to “think about dogs and then use them as a springboard into wherever they take you.” Photo is of our new grandpuppy, Zoey!
Society’s expectations?
She doesn’t give two hoots
about being who she’s not.
It’s taken her a while to get there,
seven decades to be exact.
Wrinkle creams and hair dye be damned.
She wears flat shoes on every occasion,
air-dries her hair in all its grey glory
and orders dessert, which is mandatory.
Happily sleeveless when it’s hot,
just stare if you dare at her crepe-like skin
and notice her knees with those very high hems.
Stereotypical sayings are bantered about,
she’s older and wiser and been round the block
but look at her now as she picks her own route.
Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 15.
Today we’re asked to “write a poem about something you have absolutely no interest in.”
We’re invited “to investigate some of the ‘why’ behind resolutely not giving two hoots about something.”
Although my poem is written in third person, this is how I feel at seventy-five.
This star lit night my lovely dear,
we lie entwined, our lips so near.
Our spirits joined in dreams to soar
until you break the spell to snore.
You grunt and groan and sputter snort.
I toss, I turn, till last resort
my patience worn from all that sound,
my 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.
Alarm rings loud, you wake refreshed
our bodies once again enmeshed.
While you leap up to greet the day,
I’m just ready to hit the hay.
Originally written in early 2019, tweaked for Open Link Night LIVE at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Click here at 3 PM Boston time today, to join us LIVE at dVerse! Come to read your own poem and hear others; or just to listen. The more the merrier!
A little humor is good for the soul! Also shared on NAPOWRIMO Day 14, off prompt today.
. . . but there’s no Singers in this house!
No sopranos, altos, or tenors either.
Only two spools of thread available here.
One cat-masticated white, the other
a forty-six year old neon orange –
from a pumpkin project
for a Montessori kid.
You wore spectacles, Ben,
so you must know.
Your sage advice here
requires at least one eye.
Needless to say, that needle’s slit
and my cataracted two?
Not exactly a winning bet.
So what nine and what time?
Nearing the end of mine,
I’ve resolutely decided
to wear my holey socks.
Instead, I offer you this adage:
A glass of wine at any time
may alleviate your need to whine.
Written for NAPOWRIMO Day 7 where today the prompt is to “write a poem that argues against, or somehow questions, a proverb or saying. They say that ‘all cats are black at midnight,’ but really? Surely some of them remain striped. And maybe there is an ill wind that blows some good. Perhaps that wind just has some mild dyspepsia. Whatever phrase you pick, I hope you have fun complicating its simplicity.”
*** By way of explanation: Singers is in reference to the popular brand of sewing machines and Ben Franklin popularized this phrase in his Poor Richard’s Almanac.
Image from Pixabay.com
Things sometimes manifest themselves in clouds
Are they real shapes, real creatures others see as well?
Not only my machinations, but some unexplainable cumulus creation?
Always I wonder, is my mind crazed or simply too artistic for the mundane?
What occurs to me as perfectly easy to discern, may or may not be for others.
They perhaps simply see white fluffs surrounded by blue and I
seem rather odd to them, as I ogle over a fire-breathing dragon in the sky.
Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 6. The prompt for today is “write a variation of an acrostic poem. But rather than spelling out a word with the first letters of each line, I’d like you to write a poem that reproduces a phrase with the first words of each line.”
I’ve chosen a line from Aesop’s Fable, the Bee-Keeper and the Bees: Things are not always what they seem.
Image from Pixabay.com
Mind wanders unable to cogitate.
Winds play havoc with light weight detritus.
Headlines condense happenings,
news by topic only. Sometimes old.
Eyes skim paper while draining coffee cup.
Aprosexia. Sound enticing?
Not.
Day dawns choppy and jumbled.
My sorting hat’s lost.
Sears Catalogue dreams,
turn to shit
placed in the outhouse.
Reams stacked high
like people’s dreams,
waiting to tip.
Cat clawed rolls
scarred,
piled in heaps.
Bits and pieces
thrown in anger,
confetti tossed in joy.
Like so much,
paper’s all in the using.
De is hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe! Today, we’re to use the word “paper” or a form of the word (not a synonym) within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. I had a bit of fun with this one.
She adored attending church,
not to finger her rosary beads
or murmur prayers upon her knees,
but to wear her finest hats for all to see.
Purposely arriving late
she strutted down the aisle
showing off her plumage,
much like the Tall Crowned Crane
and the Secretary Bird
she visited often at the Diego Zoo.
We’re trying on hats today at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
First two photos are from the San Diego Zoo: first is the Tall Crowned Crane and second is a Secretary Bird. That old bird in the third photograph is me some years back. I always say, if you’re going to wear a hat, wear a HAT!
Poem is fictional….I’m not Catholic, don’t use a rosary, and certainly don’t strut in church.
lillian the home poet 