Pomes of Revelry

070429

SIBLING REVELRY

Go away. I was here first.
No, that’s my spot. I want it.
Find your own.
Okay, I’ll wrestle you for it.

Hey, you wrestle good!
Let’s explore.
Let’s play hide and seek
out back by the flower pots.


070428

OZARK BRUNCH

April morning mellow heat
warms this stone; a pleasant seat.

All abounds that makes life sweet:
barest breeze, a buzz, a tweet;
simple fare to drink and eat;
kittens playing at our feet.

Pomes fer Bliss

070427

A DAY FER BLISS

They’s a weddin’ t’day!
A big’n. ‘Deed they is.

They’s a weddin’ t’day!
They two—Ariel ‘n Chris.


FUR FETCHED

One hand, two arms, or one lap
can hold him—the little fellow—
but only if he’s willing.

Too likely to get in trouble
if left to roam outside his cell,
he nevertheless escaped and was
carried back—the little felon—
by the scruff of his neck.


070426

UNDERCOVER AGENT

Camo kitty, sly and sleek
(prodigy of spy mystique),
disappears, then makes a streak;
calico of hide and seek.


HIT A NERVE

It’s all familiar;
gumline injections, banding
and clampling, numbing,
humming of drills,
taps, prods, pressures, tugs,
intermittent gurgles.

Unfamiliar is a remark
about my handling of pain.

The dental assistant
begins to dab at my cheeks
instead of my chin.


YELLOW STREAK

I have two ways of easing pain.
One: give it full attention.
Two: withdraw attention entirely.

Withdraw means
focus on something else.
Neil Sedaka works for awhile;
after that, fingertip sensations—
the texture of my skirt,
my purse beside me,
the vinyl of the chair.
Inner-eyelid viewing is good;
or is it inner-eyes?
No pain there, just abstract art.
Best to make it more engaging,
more compelling, more interactive.
Create purple. There’s a spot;
make it bigger. Bigger. Good.
Actually, purple’s too serene.
Do yellow.


REFRESHMENT

fresh-squeezed
orange tabby


AN EVENING OUT

A day’s worth of toil and turmoil
can melt in less than a minute,
for nothing can unspoil one
like a night with a kitten in it.

[ASIDE: This started out, “There’s nothing to complain of
on a day with a kitten in it.” I like “unspoil one," since it
can refer equally to the day or the person appraising it.



070425

ER, GO!

Economics—
functions and movements
and postures of wealth.

Ergonomics—
functions and movements
and postures of health.

Health and wealth as a pair go.

Ergo:
to make a fair go
at a prosperous life, dare go
under their tutelage.

To win your fair share, go.
Where go they—there go!

Prosperity—
ergo: economics.

Prosperity—
ergo: ergo.


[ASIDE: A slip of paper turned up on my desk
that read, “ergo.” “Ergo, what?” I wondered,
then remembered it was about ergonomics—,
ergo: ergo. I determined to write a poem
that ended with those two differently-pronounced
words. The surprise was that the set-up would
end up being so long and silly.]

Pome Exchange

070424

EXCHANGE

“Wow—new job, more money,
better health,” she enthuses to Ethan,
“you must feel like a new person!”

“Naw,” he says, patting my arm,
“I like the old one fine.”


[Version 1: 070424
EXCHANGE

“Wow, your health, your job,
and your finances have all
just improved dramatically;
you must feel like a new person!”
she enthuses.

He pats my arm,
“Naw! I like the old one fine.”]


070423

MENTAL DENTAL

So how’s your tooth?
Fine, thanks for asking.

Which did you take;
ibuprofen or acetaminophen?
Salt water.

You mean you’re risking a spike
during the writers’ meeting?
The tooth’s been fine all day;
no pharmaceuticals since 3 a.m.

You surely don't think you can self-cure
with your astounding mental powers!
That’s not it.

Then are you just too cheap
to down a pill?
Think whatever you like;
that’s what I’m doing.

Gonna think your way to health, then?
Yes, if that’s possible.
And I’m going to think my way
to silencing inner voices like yours.


CUSP OF TRUTH

Can salt water
cure a tooth?
My back molar
sure is loothe!

[ASIDE: These poems were created in tandem
during a writers' meeting in Dallas.]

070420

GENTEEL

Only on bad days does she appear,
tapping at my window, peering in.

Then she turns outward again
to brace against the day’s misery,
courteously restoring my privacy.

I admit to an affinity toward pigeons,
but Lucy is my favorite fowl-weather friend.


070419

WEEK-AWAY APPOINTMENT

I take this toothache day by day.
I take acetaminophen.

My dentist lives a state away.
That’s the state of state I’m in.


070418

EMBODIED TRUTH

Bodies touch, bodies feel,
making sense and sex appeal.
Bodies hurt; though that’s real,
so is this—bodies heal.


070417

WORK-RELATED

Evonne, Juan, Swan—
three good names.

Swan’s the teacher
(first name James).

Evonne and Juan
team to tame
course logistics;
that’s their game
(thought they also
play at blame).


070416

IN TROUBLE AGAIN

my mentor
is a fomenter


070415

STARTING OVER
(AND OVER)

Recurrent lesson
of apprenticeship;
shed illusions
of mastery.

Pomes at Eleven

074014

ELEVEN A.M. SUNDAY

Ladies arrive
in nighties and caftans
for the buffet brunch.

“At our age,”
says one, buttering her toast,
“we let some things go.”

“At my age,”
says the eldest, raising a toast,
“I let every thing go.”


070413

INVENTORY

He wakes up optimistic.

He wakes up minds
and spirits.
He smiles a lot.

He waters the plants
and the finches.
He tends the cars,
the cats, the fish, and me.
He is generous with praise,
encouragement, flowers,
food, and fun.

Of course, he has ways
over which I inwardly
rant and moan.
He's human; that's part
of the balance.

One of his best attributes:
he doesn't mention
attributes of mine
over which he inwardly
rants and moans.

Everyday Pomes

070412

EVERYDAY ROSES

Early unfolded,
buds and blossoms both
endure the blast
of unexpected frost.

Outer petals shocked,
at first reprieve
they resume unfolding,
releasing their beneficent aroma.


070411

APRIL APPARITIONS

A silent stampede of shadows,
or ghosts of swirling leaves,
flits across the pavement before me.
Behind and above, a pigeon flock
regroups, ascending sunward.


070410

WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT

All day long today,
people around me
said witty things.

Laughing, I remarked
that I would make a poem
of what they'd said.

By nightfall, pencil in hand,
I'd forgotten every key detail.

Maybe I can make a poem
out of what I forgot.
Maybe I can make a poem
out of nothing!

(Seinfeld would be proud.)


040709

PURR POSE

Does that make you
happy, baby?
Does that make you
a happy baby?


070410

INCOGNITO

Skin artificially tanned,
hair artificially dyed,
makeup made-up;
it isn’t that she lied.

Now, plastic surgery—
a further way to hide.


070409

DEVELOPING STORY

Lucy has a boyfriend,
or is one;
that's the office gossip
of the day.

She's been seen
strolling along the ledge
with another of her sort;
we'll call him Desi for now.

And the rest, as they say,
is mystery.

Over and out;
that's today's pigeon report.


070409

ANNIVERSARY OF AN OPPORTUNITY
(words found on a Subway napkin)

The time to write a poem
is when you just lost your cellphone;
the brand new one your husband
gave you only yesterday; the one
that must havepopped out of its holster
in the Goodwill store where you were
trying to get inexpensive furnishings
to establish a new household.

The time to write a poem
is that same evening after you've
stopped at the Shell station
to use their pay phone to call
your husband and let him know
about the cellphone loss.

The time to write a poem
is when you're sitting at a bistro table
in the combined KFC/Subway sandwich
portion of the Shell station,
long after you've eaten a 6-fatgram
teriyaki chicken on wheat with
Lay's potato chips and a diet Coke
instead of the pumpkin pie, tortilla
chips, and casserole dinner that someone
mistakenly placed on your pickup seat,
prompting you head back inside to
try to return it and absent-mindedly
lock the door of the running pickup
in the process.

Now the inexpensive furnishings
lie open to the air in the bed
of your truck; the cab is locked
and the engine is running,
running, running...

The time to write a poem
is after you've reported this
to your husband who is too far away
to rescue you and recommends breaking
some window glass, only you prefer
to enlist the services of a locksmith,
meanwhile wondering what happens
to a truck engine that depletes its gas
while running, running, running...

"Twenty to thirty-five minutes,"
said the locksmith dispatcher
forty to fifty-five minutes ago.

The time to write a poem
is--no time like the present.


051120

NOT FOR RANSOM

Who else would sing throughout his
entire kidnapping? It was unnerving
and strangely thrilling.

Obviously, our restraints were inadequate.
Bound and gagged,he rode between us
in the getaway truck; the steeper the grade,
the louder his tuneful clamor.

Our latest mission requires just such
a defiant spirit. He can be turned;
he is turning already, pacing his
protestations to the rhythm of the road.

He will serve as our sentinel
once loyal to the new camp, tracking our
minutes and sounding out our quarter-hours
from his post on our new home's mantel;
heart and voice of our new home
across state lines.

[ASIDE: Just found this written on
an old notepad. It was dated 051120.]

Salvaged Pome

.
070408

SALVAGE OPERATION

Brilliance of the day.
Power of the night.
No crystal, no lace,
no mahogany in sight.

Bungalow-rate rent.
Pungent shoreline walk.
Seaside harbor havened,
pain resolved, they talk.

[ASIDE: This was purely an exercise.
A local writers group challenged
members to write a poem using these
seven words: resolved, power, billiance,
rent, mahoghany, harbor, pungent.
My meter doesn't match in the two
verses, but somehow that seems okay.]

Comparison Shoppers

Astin Martins, Maseratis,
a Spyker Stryker Spyder,
antique Rollses and Bentleys,
Borders Books' bookshelves
and gift displays--
out for a Saturday drive,
we reconnoitre the territory
of our dreams.

Why do you suppose?

... what I compose doesn't look like the preview, and neither one looks like the post. What's with these Blogs; no WYSIWYG? And what's with the line spacing; why does it condense?

Oh, yes... why does this cloud picture appear the same size whether I order up large, medium, or small? What gives?

Strange Weather

That pale-rimmed,
February sky
was upholstered by
tufted gray clouds.

They hovered
oppressively overhead
like a gigantic mattress.

Lucky me!
That was the day
my whole world
turned upside down.

[ASIDE: Actually, it was an April sky but a February mood.]

Nano Poem Eight

Them little nanoparticles!
Dunno how they starticle
to work into your brain,
work into your hearticle.

Its kinda hard ta know ‘em,
but learn; you’ll get so smarticle!
They may inspire a poem,
or book, or nano article.

You're Smart—Why Aren't You Rich?

Something’s surely wrong
if you think there’s a message
here for you; a smart person would know
by virtue of his very life, breath,
health, and ability to think and read
that he is already rich beyond calculation.
If you want to make money,
though, quit just reading about it.

Nano Poem Seven

They’re everywhere you look
but nowhere to be seen.
They come in every color
but hopefully they’re green.

Nano-thingies:
wow, they’re keen—
ultra, infra, in-between!

Debut

Greetings, Spy Pilot~

After years of your encouragement at poetry-writing and months of your encouragement at blogging, I dunnit--got launched!

This is pretty basic, but I'm proud to start.

Link to me! ~Jo