Rubáiyát

 

If I were to write a rubaiyat
what would be my first thought?
I’ve never heard of this form before,
certainly I was never taught.

I’d sit down right here,

tell myself no fear,
write to the form, then rearrange,
that’s right, now get it in gear!

Four A.M.

Alone in the bathroom at 4 a.m.
I sit with the toilet seat down.
Try to think of nothing,
then something
benign. Try to dry the tears
from their source
by wishing, praying,
sop up the ones outside.
Cover my mouth
so sobs won't explode into
quiet house  sounds;
ticking clock,
guest's cough
husband snores
serenade my madness.
I can get up in another hour
off the toilet, out the door.
to begin the daytime noises;
clacking at the computer keys,
coffee brewing, teeth brushing,
rushing to start the day.


*Take a line from another poet's work and write a new poem using that line.

From Mary Rosenthal Mansfield's "Three Minute Wait." (Alone in the bathroom at 4 a.m.)

She Had It All

 

Country singer dead at age thirty-seven.

She sang like an angel, had the face of one, too.

Dead  by her own hand.

Lost custody of her two sons to her estranged

mom, her husband died a few months before
in the same place her body was found,
her court ordered rehab under way, her home
reeked  of waste. The headline:

She Had It All. 

I’m a Cancer

 

I don’t tell people my sign.

Don’t want to say it aloud.
The word sends shivers
down my spine.

The icon for the  moniker

I was handed at birth?
A crab! Need I say more?

I might have enjoyed

astrology if I had been
an Aquarius or a Pisces.

Kaylee D's Kitty

Itty
Bitty
Kitty

Bounced right into the city,
Saw a girl named Kaylee D
Who invited him in, tee-hee.

What would they name the itty bitty
Who sat on the couch with Kaylee D?
It’s not easy, you'll see.

They liked the names Minnie or Lettie
Until the Vet said to Kaylee D
You need a boys name, fiddly-dee!

They thought of boy names like Freddie,
Teddi and on till Kaylee D
Shouted, I have it! This kitty is Vinny D!

In Step

Stinkin

Thinkin
Winkin
Blinkin
Start with the stinkin thinkin – disgrace,
that leads to the winkin, blinkin --base!

(Tyburn Form - 2 2 2 2 9 9)

Cut the Crap (Desk Tray Blues)

I’m sitting by the printer, could I move please?
Too much incoming and I’m full already.
I  know the last thing you shoved into me
was not necessary.  Who needs to keep a copy
of the printer test?  The garbage can is next to me,

the shredder next to that, but I get all the crap.
I think we can get rid of two or three competitors
for waste around here. One, the computer:
She writes more crap than that computer can process.
Two, HER!  She has to eat every time she stops to think
about the rest of the crap she’s going to type into the computer!
And Three: the waste can because she’s obviously not

putting junk mail, junk reports, or junk notes into it. 
Empty me please, I can’t hold another sheet of paper.
I’m meant to have two shelves …she thinks there are three.
I’m made to make things neat…I look like a junk heap.  Help!
Just throw me in that waste can and put me out of my misery.

What’s With the Cats?

 

They all have cats I’m telling you,

it’s all so true,
I know that now,
I’ll tell you how.

Take facebook as a point of view,

the posts are few
without a cat.
I smell a rat!

I’m out numbered four cats to one,
that’s me undone!
I love the pups
that’s it, hands up.

(Minute Poetry Form, Iambic, 8-4-4-4, aabb, ccdd, eeff)

Charcoal Days

*Photo credit: Keith R. Good.(Photos by Keith Good Facebook Community Page)

Memory glimpses – stark,

a charcoal sketch. I see
the scene, bare trees,
dormant, death reaching up.
Grass, just shreds of itself,
green gone, done, dark,
dead.

I said Mama, the grass died.

Heart sick, I look to her.
She said not dead, it comes
back.  Years of winter disbelief -
but spring came and I did
see. 

I live in a place where grass

does not die, doesn’t give up,
where trees leaf all year.
Hope of Spring comes,
brings expectation. I wait
for winter to give up.
I wait for my son to come
home.

 

Hold On

 

Big jolt,

love from the start
I wrote.

Key note

strong arms,  good heart
I float.

Devoted -

now anchor , a part,
over coat.

Craziness

 

Mother with son --

each gesture noted.
Will envy ever leave?

It’s not true then…

home is a haven.
Will my searching end now?

New Year begins.

It’s still not over.
Will he always be dead?

((A Questionku. New short poem form from Richard Lamourex)

Resolution

 

Each year my priorities seem scrambled

by December I’m bringing them to mind.
This year my nagging mind presents me
with my biggest slack of year.

I’m a writer, I write, so write each day!

If it’s crap I write,  I’ll be satisfied with that
for I’ve been faithful to my love.
I’ll spot the sparkle from a gem here and there,
polish them, put them on display.
I’ll choose the ones that have the highest sheen,
then send those away.  Not because I don’t want them,
don’t own them,
but because I want the world to see.

Anticipation

 

(Tanka)

 

Christmas is over.

I consider what comes next
while I still bask in
joy, warmth, and love today
from precious family times.
I look forward -- a new year.

Sugarplums

Flash mob shoppers -

mad search for the right gift.
Lists, baking, menus researched,
groceries shopped and prepared.

The real purpose appears

as time draws near,
there’s a peace that surrounds
as our family and friends gather round.

We remember losses with reverence,

acknowledge the blessings so clear,
sing happy birthday with thanks
now we can smile through our tears.

Christmas

This season of love

Light shines bright in heart and soul
Let all that look, see.

Raindrops

Splatter, then glide down the window,

become a visual meditation.

Drops on the rusty tin roof provide

rhythmic background music

as the candle burns higher and reflects

writer and her mythic muse.