Red light, full stop,
Green light, let’s go;
Yellow light, assumption to go-go-go.
23 May 2018
Some have openly claimed
and will remain unnamed.
To charge a person of our esteemed Salon—
(Oh, sacred Muses be swift, now intervene),
Composes hack poems from midnight till past dawn—
(So quickly sharpen the rusty guillotine).
Brusk poesy hardly so refined, void of grace, a “spewed fit”
Poetry so crude and burlesque, in pain, like being dog bit.
If so-call poems were likened to a stream, no images of burbling brook
Such worthless pratter would be a gutter full of putrid, infested muck.
If it were a dog, then a mutt, a nameless breed
Unrefined rhyme, senseless, no pleasant creed.
Those scribbles could be parsed
As scrawl, pariah, wild, or worse.
If classification were a task to be described,
illuminate mindless jibber, the naughty implied.
Digressions inhabit every line within failed couplets
patter rhythm, base humor, and scores of murky subjects.
However one may slice it–
chop, mince, or finely dice it;
Fair words in all pleasant company, so proper to say
This mash n’er resemble poetry—in no-dog-gone way.
These are barks and howls
All threatening growls
Not poems by any measure, is the just charge
Merely more cur doggerel, writ very large.
26 April, 2018
Daily prompt: Cur
“That’s fifteen points, Frigid, F-R-I-G-I-D; righty.” Louise was way too perky a winner.
The other players shivered with cold blank stares.
Strip Scrabble, whose idea was that?
Louise needed to lose her fuzzy hat and her Simpsons mittens.
11 April, 2018
Frigid, a Second-helping
frog sticky tongue flies
succumbed, transfixed in mid-flight
fly was but yet is
11 April 2018
I have a pet peeve. My right eyelid itches or a trembles at certain not-so-convenient times.
The crisis occurs a few moments after I plunge my hands into soapy cleanser or when I begin a greasy goo-covering task, it is then my right eye cover kicks up a twitch.
“I feel a disturbance in the face.”
My eyelid is frantic to be soothed. It feels weird to speak of part of my body as somehow removed from me, but my right eyelid seems to have a mind of its own. When I ignore the facial tug-of-war the results have been strange to witness.
One afternoon I was hip deep peeling and de-seeding tomatoes for a familiar recipe. The usual-suspect went into a mini-tremor then escalated into a full -fledged line dance across my face. I madly washed my hands and dried them for this was a true emergency, yep, my eyelid said so. I tried to gently shush my face-quake.
“Let me say, I was not put on this earth to sing Soft Kitty to my eyelid.”
My hands were not sufficiently free of tomato residue so some of the acid crept into my eye. A lot of rinsing later I finished preparing the tomatoes.
I have a new plan when I have messy jobs. When I begin a messy job I wear gloves. Somehow I feel I have out-flanked my right eyelid.
“Now, left ankle I’m looking at you, do not try my patience.”
I hear the ocean in a shell,
Alike but not identical.
I sniff the ocean in a shell;
It’s not the same wet salty smell.
I wade knee deep in the warm-gray-soupy water,
And race back to the beach when I spot a floater.
I feel the sea, the powerful motion
And play dodge-shark–this is the real ocean.
Please credit me and this blog when you use my intellectual property. It’s good to know other people can see something, good or not so much, in what I make.