Poetry Here (Mostly)

Posts tagged ‘writing’

Monkeyshines


Pink Monkey-1

Chimps should give poetry a go,
for, no doubt, they’d know how to toe
a rhyme and make a stanza screech.

Their poetry would bare sharp teeth,
fling coconuts and just for fun,
smack lips and stick out tongues.

From their creative exhibitions,
we might overcome our inhibitions,
and on our own simian lines we’d swing.

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Freedom


IMG_1498.jpg We exited
off the freeway
to wind around
country boulders.

Off-road-shoulder
placards expressed
state of rural
independence:

“Deer may cross”
“Rocks may slide”
“May flood when it rains”
“Horseback riding allowed”

 

Image

Paradox


bird fight.jpgThe tidy deserve
messy comforts and
grateful expressions.

The fierce admire
tough challenges that
suspend all chuckles.

The clumsy amble
irked by bright glimmer
spangled in their eyes.

The deceived complain
and exaggerate
great astonishment.

The fleet and versatile,
by coincidence,
perform and delight.

Not A Pen Pal (Day 9: apostrophe, meaning 2nd person)


My poem got trapped in a Pen.

“Please, Pen, begin to write again.”

 

Snobby as a Fountain, Pen clicked,

“Your rhyme’s not worthy of my ink.”

 

“Release my words on paper here,

it’s not your job to  judge or  jeer.”

 

“Stanzas neither worthy nor sage,

I won’t allow upon a page.”

 

“You’re so old fashioned and cruel,

soon, you’ll be a dry fossilized tool.”

 

With that, I snapped on Pen’s cap,

and moved blank notebook from my lap.

 

Pen’s critique sounded much muter,

when I turned on my computer.

 

But, I feel somewhat frustrated,

poem’s still hidden and hated.

Repetitive Pleasures (Day Eight, Epistrophe)


Night crept out

window’s mouth,

scented breeze

singing trees,

early morn

coffee warm,

again.

Grabbed a cup,

toast popped up.

paper news,

ink-black views,

daily chores,

then outdoors,

again,

again.

Walked with dog,

ravens called,

flowery scene,

southwest green,

season brings

near same thing,

again,

again,

again.

Evening mixed

dinner fix,

greet, speak, eat,

watched TV,

minutes gone,

day moved on,

again,

again,

again,

again.

 

 

Old Movies (Day 6: Screen/Enjambment)


Sometimes before falling asleep in bed

I tune in people who now are long dead.

Glamorous actors from last century

look stylish in dramas or comedy,

film noir, or high jinks of action frolic

city bustle or somewhere bucolic.
Cinema loved a storybook romance

feelings expressed in a well-rehearsed dance.

Entertainment sang on Hollywood lots

before stars got cast into dark, final plots.

On my screen they shine without special effects,

computer zombies, or uncomfortable sex.

Limericks (Day 5)


Found random words to rhyme about:

lazy, lout, pig, snout, sauerkraut.

I’ll doggerel combine,

in limerick time,

to put off scrubbing my bathroom’s tile grout.

 

That lazy Lout guzzled vermouth,

showed potbelly and looked uncouth.

A picture of sin,

with bottle of gin,

and when not drinking, he fed his sweet tooth.

 

As to a snout, little I know,

it’s needed for truffles to go.

You might ask French hog

or look at his blog,

Couch Lout’s likely viewed an animal show.

 

It might taste good but sauerkraut stinks,

spread on hot dog or sausage link.

Meat made from pig snout,

“Goes with beer,” burped Lout,

then, grease on his shirt, he died in a blink.

 

Limericks are completely done,

such silly lines but I had fun.

Now, I am sincere,

I had no Lout here,

and thanks, but no thanks, please don’t bring me one.

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