Bahama Mama palm trees,
The island’s blue skies,
Lime and blueberry umbrellas.
Pink coral rays rolling out
A poetic zephyr of relaxation;
Massage of sun on shoulders.
Down we go, with the tubes,
Bumping walls, as water falls;
Playing seaweed footsie.
Approach of Autumn seas,
Stingrays and sharks of Atlantis,
Strolling in figure eights.
On the Royal’s 15th floor,
Entertained by Summer storm
and moonlit motifs on the shore.
Didn’t come close to sliding,
Beach wind calming,
Sipping my coconut rum.
Later three cherries float
in my runner, and a stranger
demands a fruitful repeat.
I don’t broach the subject
of cashing out; gambler, not;
Danger of sunken treasure.
Wrapped up this celebration;
a row of chairs, food to spare,
Hellos and Tatas. Wings lift, land.
When I re-broach a pressing, unresolved issue,
I wish you’d engage me in productive, fair debate
instead of withering me with sarcasm.
When did your seeming love for me morph into hate?
When I can’t do whatever you ask of me
“Right NOW,” I wish you would patiently wait.
I wish you wouldn't rudely foist your duties off on me.
You know I already have a full plate.
I wish you would stop treating me as your underling.
I long to be valued, as your equal, your cherished mate.
Please mend fences. Don't force me to leave
and burn bridges behind me. It will soon be too late!
Before we die, hope that we've lived all right
Not for ourselves alone, but others too
Enabling friends and lovers in the fight
Cupping hands to pray, push and pull them through
How many have sought God on our behalf,
Bid Him dispatch angels and daily bread?
Surely one who had warred for me, I laugh
Whether present now or currently dead
I could write them into verse, but rather
I'll send my warriors toward heaven
How cheering for me that they would bother
Broach the Holy portals, put a second
To dialogue with the Eternal one
Over me, and against the roaring gun
Too large to avoid everyone knows it's here
not wishing to collide they won't stand too near
nor broach the subject they keep it under wraps
Mum's the word keep it under your hat
they all walk 'round it talk around it
they're not blind so what gives
it's unkind to animals and who wants to live
with an elephant in the room
too large to evade it's something they ignore
not wanting to impede but can't close the door
a line they won't cross they'll avoid it at all costs
just sit there and stare
even sweep it under the rug with a broom
but with lumps and bumps that big
how long can they keep on pretending it's not there
the elephant in the room
One of my favorite Christmas presents was a broach
Made of two glittered snow people – a man and a woman
They were holding tiny pink and red shiny glass ornaments
I wore it for a week after Christmas until it fell off
On the block between my house and school.
I was heartbroken, because I never found it.
That was sixty-four years ago, and I still remember my sadness.
A gift from my Aunt Marjorie who probably never knew how much I loved it.
broach aloha door
with a double rainbow arc
we can jump rope double dutch
More Horn Haiku
had been wearing broach
while horses did pull a coach
winter would approach
way we like to live
should always be positive
ourselves to God give
How is this for more of my
Horn Haiku. Just saw Pike
Place Market and Borchart
Gardens in commercials.
Write some poems about
Vancouver and Victoria.
would see Gloria
entering euphoria
while in Victoria
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
(Thomas)
There is a issue l need to broach
Which is somewhat of a delicate subject
I have hesitated until now
However, this issue l can no longer neglect
I apologise in advance for any offence caused
That is far from my intent
I just need to speak the truth
Release inner torment
Its out of respect l share this
I believe you have the right to know
Please understand once you read this
Forward is the only way you can go
Prepare yourself for what you are about to learn
It is not for the faint hearted furthermore
“Oh who’s that? ….just a moment, l’ll be back in five”
There’s someone at my door…!
rhinestone magic, I thought they were diamonds
glitzy, shiny, beautiful, I fell in love with this flowered broach
always wanted to wear her, begging grandma to let me try her on
when I turned eighteen she was mine; grandma had willed her to me.
rhinestone magic, I thought they were diamonds
In the warranted spectrum of option.
sitting on the brink has a tempting draw.
I broach the brink precipice with caution
In the warranted spectrum of option.
Every night for one hour, it grabs caption.
I can't dodge night toll of a sleepless thaw
In the warranted spectrum of option.
sitting on the brink has a tempting draw.
Written; February 23, 2023
I did a show in this tiny town called Longyearbyen. We went snowmobiling around Svalbard and saw Arctic foxes, snow bunting, polar bear footprints and almost got lost in a blizzard.
Bill Bailey
Footprint
Nonchalantly, the broach of a bear’s footprint.
Not any bear…a polar bear; and blizzard…
a blizzard to cover one’s tracks. Indeed, lost -
bobbing along on a snowmobile venture.
The twist and turn of fact and myth dangles
at the edge of a bluff. Still, I can see it -
a wild fox in a white fur coat, with its bushy tail,
and a snow bunting, in flight, with black-tipped wings.
A footprint is a funny thing…I am there,
transported to a frozen oddity. My eyeballs
ogling the path, digging deep, down into the tundra.
What more will I discover on the polar beat?
Will the bear follow me as I retreat?
2/18/2023
Writing Challenge -F
Constance La France
Why do you call her the chimpanzee diva? I ask a bit too much.
I think it sounds a bit mean, because I have not seen her yet.
She floods herself into the party wearing satin and such.
She puts her clutch on the hutch and says, “I am no one’s pet.”
Her clothes are designer fine, and her attitude is beyond reproach.
She opens her purse and takes out another expensive designer clutch.
She is wearing a lounging suit that costs a bunch, and a pretty broach.
Hello Miss Diva, I say, completely cowed by her demeaner and such.
Her exquisite lace linen collar tiered in layers of dainty threes
Was not the only beautifying feature of Princess LaCrees
Her beetle necklace of green peridot was engraved well
Her monocle was designed by Bob Mackie’s protégé, Snell.
She was the ultimate spring peeper croaker.
We saw by her wardrobe, she was a leap frogging bloaker.
Prominently featured on her front was a darling topaz roach broach.
It was the kind of semi jewel that would never have to ride in coach.
Princess LaCrees knew to top off her flashy outfit with a favored crown.
Orange crushed velvet puff ball at the top, it was a coppery light brown.
She is dazzling, a jumper among the reeds, the best of the best.
Ribbit Ribbit she shouts, her head a big crest.
Don’t you get hungry wearing all of those bugs? Asked Lady in Waiting.
Not really, the princess answered, as her maids began the uncrating.
Grasshoppers, ants, beetles, and lady bugs were scattering all around.
She stabbed and ate them all with her wand, without making a sound.
Bold, bright as broach,
plucked from
a distant gaze to settle
the folds of a morning,
unmoved by the dappled light
twitched across its outstretched wings,
a sleeping butterfly
rolled up in a cardboard tube
and sent flying
halfway across a world
to here, still deep
in its dream.
It matters much who is in control:
In a venture he is the petrol;
To others hands what is relevant
And fishes out those who gallivant;
Workers warn to be not sycophant
For treats the size of an Elephant...
It matters a lot who does control:
Early his catarrh checks with menthol,
So that it staggers not his petrol
Or him reduce to thing to console...
Someone in control like Football Coach
On one's shoulders burdens of approach:
The fellow to new grave topic broach
And bad workers pair up with cockroach.
On a pedestal who's in control,
One's eyes closed to sharing of dettol
Over the squabbles merely quibble
Or a barraging voice make feeble.
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