Squawk! Beetle in your follicles.
Angry molecules.
I want bugs everywhere!
Haha! Please share!
It’s just a barrette?
Regret! Regret!
But I still want to flail.
Howling quail.
Beetle on my mind.
To find.
Fix your hair, girl.
Beetle in the curl.
The hair hangs out,
Swishing all about.
Looks like a Bussel sprout!
Or better yet.
Electrocuted,
With a barrette!
Standing on end.
With curls that begin,
And never seem to end.
Always to slick,
With products that itch.
Time to make a proper switch!
Perhaps it needs a shave.
To start all over,
Until it's made!
A bottle of sore throat relief spray lies on my desk
Along with sixteen torn up pages of past written poems
My cell phone sits here too, a box of Kleenexes, six notebooks
There are two computer monitors on this desk
I like clutter, it makes me feel safe and loved
Is that a barrette? I watch it moving steadily away
A tiny pincher bug, adding a bit of life to this mess
Karen keeps it all
she has buttons and bows
her very first doll
there are sixteen drawers in her closet
none of them close
some are full of ruined old panty hose
Karen is a crafter, she throws nothing away
her husband keeps quiet, he has no real say
for she might need this and she might need that
she has a a rubber chicken and a Frisbee hat
she has an entire dresser full of patterns and stuff
if you suggest purging, Karen runs off in a huff
She might need that piece of cardboard or that old barrette
Try to sneak something into a garbage, she will most certainly fret.
She keeps it all, it is clutter she values the most.
She is a terrific crafter, but not ever ready to host.
Slowly, Mickey Mouse wafted by
as I gazed at the cerulean sky.
The warmth of a cool Chardonnay
I’d sipped at the end of the day;
had me drift in and out of a sleep.
As Mickey transformed to a sheep
all my thoughts coast into a haze.
While the hammock so gently sways
my conscious is thoroughly freed,
from the book I intended to read.
The sheep, soon pierced by a jet;
floats like a fluffy barrette
past the tops of the trees
blown by the soft summer breeze
as the last of the cobwebs dissolve.
I’ll make it my earnest resolve,
I say to myself, or out loud,
as I watch another white cloud,
troubles can take a backseat;
doing nothing at all is so sweet.
Anxiety girl could turn any situation into something worse.
If someone stole your barrette, she’d say they had stolen her purse.
She looked for the bad under every rock, ledge, collar and chair.
Thinking that no one in the world liked her or gave a care.
Anxiety girl could shake her hands at will.
She focused on the bad, that was her usual drill.
Her habitat was to live in the worst place she could ever be.
People ran from her often, and this included me.
I wish you the true ..........
Knowing fully well you got enough wishes
To come are fulfilments and celebration
Enjoy each moment of your day's period
These are my wishes for you
Have a good fun off delicious dishes
To count on worthwhile memories in administration
Till come such next year in myriad
Being at the middle
Everyone does eye the top
Up there are many vibes and vices
While you eye, they wish they were
May you never be laid idle
May sickness never put thy muscles to a stop
Throughout living, shall you onto life add spices
To count on putting in enough care
Growing...
Grow others of you
Learning...
Learn how life fairs
Praying...
Pray love abounds
Wishing...
Wish there exist no regret
Laughing...
Laugh at childhood owned blue
Hiring...
Hire joy to manage your affairs
Listening...
Listen how lovely birthday song sounds
Putting...
Put it on tightly, thy nice barrette
All day long
Waiting is now over
Thou still look so young
Keep enjoying- grace of the new crossover
Gertrude Besamer was a bunny with style, flair, and class.
She entered Marla’s Tearoom with a bit of jazzy sass.
Marla complimented her on her barrette made of glass.
And her well-padded bustle which enhanced her pretty a….
There was a young girl called Paulette
with a temper that was hard to forget
she had a baby doll called Georgette
and one day when Paulette was upset
because she could not find her barrette
she threw Georgette and was full of regret
oh so sad, she put baby in her doll bassinet
and lay all night in bed weeping till the sunset
she acknowledge to herself a spoiled mindset
promising that her spoiled ways she would reset
___________________
November 10, 2021
Poetry/Monorhyme/Paulette - 1
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1405-680-10
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Paulette 1
sponsor, Julia Ward, Judged 12/14/2021
I was named Paulette, guess my parents thought I was a pet. I always wanted a pretty pink barrette, my name I would like to forget.
Date Written: 11/9/2021
Paulette (1) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
mom placed baby’s breath
in my hair
on my wedding day
my hair she’d squeeze
out in the sink
in childhood no need for ink
i’d think ‘ouch’
‘ouch’ the pain
she laid helpless
on her hospice bed
with merely a couple strands
so brave
she said goodbye to hair
knowing it would grow back
it grows back in time
heavenly fine
a barrette placed with care
by her guardian angel
my sad eyes
smile
at this thought
4/26/2021
I know I should not whine or frivolously fret,
but I believe I have lost my pet marmoset.
I have also lost a blue barrette, a red tea set,
and a beautifully carved purple aigrette.
They all went down in the drain,
putting me in a particularly uncomfortable cold sweat.
I did not mind losing Jeanette,
a snake who was never an exceptionally kind or loving pet,
I am sad about losing my baby’s bassinet
and a tiny edge of my bathroom’s finest moquette.
They both fell down the storm drain,
when I paused to look at my rapidly disappearing tea set
Way down deep in the bowels of the sewer,
and I am especially sad to lose my pet marmoset.
Here comes another person.
She has lost a briquette, diskette,
and a sliver of yellow georgette.
Written 2-28-2019
Contest: Down a Storm Drain Gone Forever
Sponsor: Eve Roper
His love is magical and untouchable,
He is a prince of this generation.
His hugs are endearing and warm,
His kiss is forever, he loved my paintings..
What will I do without him,
I pray he comes back, like Santa Claus.
Like Elizabeth Barrette Browning and Robert Barrette Browning and marry,
They are the great poets of the century.
I miss him, his tall masculine stature,
His beautiful blue eyes that smile at you.
The dimples in his cheeks,
What could you do, the rest is fate.
I said God has it out for us,
After god has introduced him and I.
I love you Robert, marry me,
Come live with me forever, let's continue to be friends at home.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz.
We have all had Valentine memories,
The universe is God's favorite Valentine for humanity.
Good deeds are humanities favorite valentine,
Giving help to those who are needy.
The love and friendship between boyfriend and girlfriend,
Flowers and a box of chocolates could guest.
Husband and wife exchange cards and letters of affection,
Elizabeth Barrette Browning and Robert Barrette Browning, great poets
Their poem, "How do I love thee, let me count the ways,"
"I love thee to the height and depth of all my days".
A poem revered by society, well known and a favorite,
The day we remember how sacred love and friendship are.
There are many poems and verses written about Valentine's Day,
Stories of romance and love beyond compare.
Royal friendships and marriages that exist through time,
That's God's magic renewed and remembered.
Blessings from our immortal God and friend,
Forever thankful and appreciated.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz.
Yepper-doddle, today I’ll use my own noddle.
My prized antique frame sustained a despised bust.
Wanting to show my man the tough dough in my crust,
I found strong glue and told that goo I was nonplussed.
Next, I grabbed frame, soda and sat on my sofa.
Three tries – no prize, so with both eyes quite wide,
I called the glue a boob lube, dumb as a square loop,
and threatened to incise its worthless insides.
I rose, fetched pose and a calming balm libation,
then returned to pestering with less sweltering.
Glue applied, both sides, I made my hands a vice
and, well fries n’ flies, I squeezed degrees of might.
Bullet sweat, my muscles clinched like a barrette,
I pressed longer than tourists eating pullets.
Then when gingerly, tenderly letting go –
glue thoroughly, tauntingly offended me -
son of a bee, ugly as his glue-mom-harlot,
refused to seam my antique frame back to its gleam.
Past bummed, I stood to sweetly summon my husband,
but my feet stuck to carpet, mucked as a tar pit.
CayCay Jennings
October 16, 2018
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