Once filled with children
Most earnestly ciphering
Only ghosts now count.
Category: Poetry
Slow Boat to Anywhere
i’d like to have you,
on a slow boat tonight
down a lazy river or
any port feels right.
whisper through wee hours
give into rhythm’s waves,
rock each other gently
and stay afloat for days.
far from shore we’d sail
then shelter in the cove,
skyclad ‘neath the stars
clothed in naught, save love.
Now, lest anyone think I was feeling amorous when I wrote this nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve got some sort of stomach bug, and I am doing my best to keep from being sick. Poor Studly Doright.
Peace, people.
Nothing to Say
I had nothing to say today
So I’m not going to say it.
Of course if I’m being honest
I’ve already said something.
Dadgum it’s hard for me,
This wordless disposition.
I’m sure it’s a temporary
State of my current condition.
I was listening to NPR’s TED talks series on Sunday. The main story that morning was about a man who decided to stop talking for one day. That one day turned into twelve years. I couldn’t imagine going without speaking for ten minutes unless I was sleeping. But twelve years?
When I commented on this to Studly Doright he smiled politely and said, “I’d sure like to see you try.”
I’m not sure how I should take that.
Peace, people!
In My Wildest Dreams
i am the undisputed
champion of laundry
and other areas of
womanly domesticity,
in my wildest dreams.
melodies are composed
in honor of my skills
of bold athetic prowess
on the sporting field,
in my wildest dreams.
belle of the ball am i,
wallflower’s opposite
graceful and desirable,
of incomparable beauty,
in my wildest dreams.
flocks of fans gather
pursuing my attention
accolades precede my
effervescent presence,
in my wildest dreams.
in truth i am average,
in every imaginable way
no fans, no praises,
no notable skills,
but i still have dreams.
Inspiration comes from everywhere. This particular piece was inspired by an advertisement for detergent. If only my laundry could be that fresh, that perfect….ah, if only.
Common Side Effects
The price we pay,
And it is substantial,
To cue our ills
Is more than financial:
Bloating
Blindness
Difficulty in swallowing
Dizziness
Diarrhea
Bouts of unchecked wallowing
Anxiety
Insomnia
Excessive flatulence
Nausea
Muscle spasms
Shortness of extravagance
Why, oh why
Can’t side effects be
Welcome symptoms
Of living healthily?
Only when physicians
Prescribe meditation
And bright sunshine
Will patients discover the
Side effect of feeling fine.
Simply Speaking
simply speaking
i feel helpless,
useless, wasted.
simply speaking
i feel anguished,
broken, crushed.
no complicated
phrases convey
this despair:
again.
The Finer Things in Life
Potato soup and
Warm cornbread
An ice cold glass
Of Borden’s milk.
Fuzzy kittens in
Cradled arms
With fur as soft
As the finest silk.
A child’s warm
Heartfelt embrace
I love you Nana
The sweetest grace.
The finer things
Aren’t steeply priced
When simple love
Will always suffice.
Feeling a little sentimental today, and oh so very lucky. (I borrowed that from my friend Janie, a lucky, lucky girl.)
Peace, people!
Platypus Pondering
ok people, i was feeling silly. indulge me.
platypus satypus
the top of a red
double decker bus
contemplating his
fatypus at the end
of the daytypus.
what am i?
pondered platypus,
feeling all sadypus.
a fish or a
mammalpus? the
answers aren’t
clear to us.
well, look
countered buffalo
you have live
young, you know
you nurse them,
too, so you’re
definitely
a mammalo.
Peace, people!
An Ode To Pimento Cheese
Until this week I hadn’t eaten a pimento cheese sandwich in over 40 years. But for some reason this week I felt this need, nay, this HUNGER for a pimento cheese sandwich.
In pursuit of the perfect pimento cheese, I stopped by my favorite sandwich shop, Chicken Salad Chick, on Monday and purchased a take home container of their pimento cheese.
Since then I’ve had a pimento cheese sandwich for dinner each night along with a beer and a sliced apple. Mmmmmm!
In honor of the lowly pimento cheese sandwich I give you this poem:
funny yellow substance
funny little spread
served between two slices
of soft white bread.
oh pimento what are you
veggie, fruit, or bean?
never mind, it matters not
your attributes I’ll sing.
Come to think of it, I’m not really certain what a pimento tastes like. I sure like the cheese part, though.
I found this recipe on Pinterest. Keep in mind I haven’t taste tested it, but if any of my readers try it out let me know what you think.
Peace, people!
Broken People
we are
broken
each one
of us
from the
inside
(no matter
how beautiful,
or talented,
or together
we pretend
to be)
there are
cracks,
porcelain
fine,
criss-
crossed
etchings
across our
souls.
we are
whole
each one
of us
on the
inside
(no matter
how battered,
or discouraged,
or frightened
life has
made us)
there are
gold shot
veins of
strength,
defying
all odds
celebrating
our souls’
survival.
Praying for Eyebrowz 