Seascape

I refuse to believe
in the lack of even
the gentlest zephyr
or swelling tide of sea;
surely you fool me with
a calm ship
on an acrylic —
See!

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I think the tourists believe I’m one of them, at Katz’s

The table next to mine
thinks me funny for squeezing
mustard on my plate.

That’s because I don’t like it.

But if I’m to have a proper pastrami sandwich
I might as well try a little bit on the side
with my shavings.

Nah, I still hate it.

I do know how to eat a sandwich.
And I do know I’m getting robbed
at New York prices.

Scent vs Taste

a pungent French cake
made of lavender essence
tastes like my hand soap

Time Elapse

A collaborative poem between me and Syl65! Syl was one of the first poets I met here on WordPress and his love poems are particularly tender and never fail to impress. Please visit his site to explore more of his work!

The days are flying by
And my calendar can’t keep up
Just got the sunscreen ready
Now there’s a sale on winter coats

Halloween costumes are shaking
Spidery webs and monster claws
But the leaves are still green
And I feel freshly thawed

I think I’m hearing turkeys
Gobble, gobble, gobble
Christmas decorations up already
My mind is starting to wobble

Champagne at year’s end
Although I’m still in summer
Should I be like a child sighing?
“Oh, what a bummer!”

Fly by days
Lead into fly by nights
Did the Mayan calender really end?
Or is there no end in sight?

So many thoughts
A-whirling in my head
Time to stop thinking of time
And simply go to bed.

Miss Missy is a Lion

Miss Missy is a lion
prowling through
the Serengeti

She makes this quite known
when I accidentally trip
upon her on the stairs

Although her eyes sting
and her tail crooks
where I’ve trodden
she yowls fearsomely
and scratches retribution

I still have to do the dishes on my birthday

Another year older
To age and grow bolder
To find acceptance and poise
To embrace quiet and noise
To still work on loving myself
With a little generous help
From writers and readers like you
Thanks, and have a great day, too!

Writer Notes: It’s my party and I’ll cry be schmoopy if I want to. Thanks for making this a great year. =)

Bread for a Circus

Mother Duck with her quintet brood
Came onto land for some food
Found I’d arrived with pockets bared
Sniffed and huffed that I’d dared
Greet her without a proper bribe
And swam off with her tiny tribe.

Writer’s Block Poem

It’s been a while
Not quite my style
To architect a little ditty.
While maintaining that witty
Spark
I’ll lark
On blank space, until
I have more than pity.

True Love and a Caveat

I am not afraid to walk a thousand miles
At your whim and to prove myself true
But remember that I cannot swim
And you’ll have a drowned corpse as your lover
If you ask me to skip continents

Before Midnight

Before Cinderella left for the evening’s ball,
Her fairy grandmother gifted a watch for her tiny wrist.
To her fluttering pulse the fairy pressed it
With a stern lecture and warning kiss:

“By midnight your finery will melt away.
Your carriage will return to an orange pumpkin.
Your feet will ache in their glass contraptions
And sweat will drip without compunction.

You’ll reek anew, an unwashed rat.
Your teeth will lose their lustrous shine.
The back you bent by many hours work
Will refuse its current poise, sublime.

So heed my words, my trusting child.
Don’t dawdle much too long.
Return here to your dusty cottage
Ere the clock’s twelfth gong.”

Tension pooled along her back as Cinderella was whisked away;
She dreading meeting anyone who knew her on the way.
She fretted on her journey’s trek,
At the ball, she ate to appease a queasy constitution.
She threw up shrimp canapés on her prince’s shoes
And all idle daydreams withered before fruition.

Sobbing into her diamond kerchief,
Cinderella spent her time alone in a moonlit garden
Where no eye espied her wealth or taste;
The robins cared not one farthing.

Then laughingly, she let down her hair into the evening breeze.
It dried her tearful face and crooned lullabies to her chest
Where at last, an hour before midnight,
Her poor heart could have a rest.

“I shall marry a blacksmith or a farmer,
Any good man, though poor, will do.
True love shouldn’t come with headaches,
And the feverish sickness of an ague!”

And so it was that such a thing, not long after, came to be.
Cinderella eloped with a butcher, once midnight set her free.