Without a word we get aboard
New lease of life I have to hold
You didn’t tell, but it’s okay
I knew the schedule for today
We’ve got a lot of alco stuff
And dainty food, more than enough
A few musicians, one plays flute
Three others doing strings and lute
Monk is the captain, he’s so nice
He leads the ship by throwing dice
The boatswain’s drunk, rest of the crew
Aren't sure what they ought to do
Nuns play canasta, drinking wine
A beggar prays for sun to shine
Some folks are gazing at the skies
As if they’re taken by surprise
Perhaps they got fed up with sea
Waves sway around you and me
You turn to me your face, so pale:
“We won’t be swallowed by the whale,
I hope, what do you think of this?”
- “I think to get another kiss"
This plot unfolds by its own rules
We're hanging out on ship of fools
There is no course this ship must do
There is no purpose, but a view
Of endless waves up to the line
Horizon darkens, then inclines
Then our ship soars up and glides
Down to the bottomless white skies
And there we go, towards the land
Which doesn’t look like golden sand..
Categories:
canasta, adventure,
Form: Rhyme
If you have bridge chairs, playing bridge
Is not their only use.
Try mah jongg or canasta -
Any game needs no excuse.
Or set them up for extra guests
So everyone can sit,
Especially if there’s
A fold-up table where they’ll fit.
The same goes for a coffee cup,
For cocoa or some tea
Can fill it up as well as java -
Wouldn’t you agree?
Of course, that coffee cup may rest
Upon a coffee table,
Which may hold books or magazines,
Despite its coffee label.
And yet, if you’ve a bookcase,
You may get some eye-roll looks
If the shelves have only knickknacks,
When it’s meant for holding books.
Categories:
canasta, word play,
Form: Rhyme
The canasta
We played canasta, club 7 was missing lie on the floor,
but the rules where you couldn’t pick it up invented by lawmakers
who had decided that one part should lose the game of power?
Millions of people protested their concern was not hidden as the system
was rigged to favour one and the missing card became irrelevant
or buried in page number five as a joke.
The card was picked up anyway and used as proof of false performance
since the man who picked up the 7th card was profoundly
argumentative he was wrong until proven right, they continued playing
with a missing card ignoring the consequences.
The rule is quite clear you can´t play canasta with a missing card.
Categories:
canasta, break up, corruption, devotion,
Form: Blank verse
Worship not your turtles on Tuesday
Driving a convertible in traffic is inadvisable
Places you at risk, in peril of bird droppings
Never yawn with mouth open and head up
Yawning is sacrilegious with seat belts off
If you have daughters, don't!
They are not turtles and this is not Vegas
If you have sons, feed them peanuts
They will not become elephants all of a sudden
But they are cheaper than you think
And much cheaper than pink
If you play cards on Thursday be warned
Turtles don't drink or smoke or gamble
Too many decks makes them sleepy
Don't worry about convertibles
Turtles drive trucks but not well
Never on Doomsday or Wednesday
That would be asking too much
They have trouble with the clutch
Doomsdays come around once in a lifetime
Never on Wednesday because that is canasta night
Beer and pretzels are free
(Bring your own pretzels and beer)
Leave your turtles at home
Worship them not on Tuesday
Canasta should never be trifled with
Bring two decks for security
Categories:
canasta, animal, day, death, games,
Form: Free verse
The Trivial Pursuits of my fun youth
involved challenge more than I’m so Sorry
or look for a Clue while driving freeway.
We’d fend off Trouble without undue Risk
during long winters playing Canasta
or racking Cranium. Wins came brisk.
Soon a rough Scrabble for food not garbage
meant skills learned with Pinochle or Cribbage
promised a better return on survival.
Attitude, no Big or Little Casino,
before a blocking Operation
meant a Monopoly on Life without
degradation like missing Whist or kisses.
Categories:
canasta, analogy, childhood, fun, games,
Form: Free verse
My grandmother’s hands
Were many things to me.
They were the glue
That held our family together
When anguish threatened
To rip us apart.
They were the tools
That lovingly prepared
Years of sumptuous
Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners.
They were the healing
That soothed and smoothed
Away the cuts and bruises of
Adolescent shenanigans.
They were the tireless bastions
That embraced and soothed us
When we were afraid.
They were the skillful teachers
Who showed us how
To hold our hands in thoughtful prayers.
They were the indefatigable nemises
That were never, too, tired
For one more game
Of late night Canasta.
They were the compassionate care
That pressed a cool, damp cloth
To my forehead when it raged with fever.
My grandmother –
She was many, many things to me,
But mostly, she was
The unselfish expression of Love.
By jb pearce
11/31/18
Categories:
canasta, grandmother, grandparents, love,
Form: Free verse
Angels sleep between each snow flake floating down
In slow motion, they know the pure white path by heart
That dances over the humble hills transformed
Into a winter dream like coat that covers wings and scenery
Coming on is the dawn where drifts are born
Angels spirit souls away to other lands when they awake
Saints pray for their safe return while playing cards
Canasta holds their attention by the shuffled deck
Holly is the winner of the game
Invisible are God's creatures who fly at the speed of light
Wings turn pink while racing through the universe
Angels never think about collisions with so much room to move about
There is more than enough outer space to fill it up and in
Plenty more from where that came from
From within
Leaving no room for sin and suffering
Gin is next on the agenda when canasta ends
Categories:
canasta, adventure, angel, appreciation, god,
Form: Free verse
THE COLORS OF EVENING
Playing canasta with family and a shiny new deck of cards,
Kings, queens, the beautiful blackness of the spades.
While outside, through the window, everywhere
Snow is falling in an uninterrupted blanket over the evening
And the land is silenced.
Near the window my daughter’s hair in pony tail
Reveals the smooth curve of her cheek bones
As, from memory, she paints in delicate strokes
Spring marguerites in the garden, quietly saying hello
With their frivolous white-fingered waves
And their sunny yellow smiles.
Categories:
canasta, color,
Form: Free verse
Through our wish
through our goals
through our done mean
through a compliment decided by the garden
minute having wards coming —
minute always passing, creating
A matter turns alive.
Be not confused realness came from mentally
on goals for, hours marry in cute leading
thou, wish through a canasta disdain
Of our mean ...
The gardens up swell memories
over weedy by coming
the lullaby thou invades off, and sereness
flying on handle tools
any aurora —any of windy
From reality, from mentally tour.
Categories:
canasta, caregiving, faith, life, ,
Form: Epithalamium
Rapid eye groovement
dreaming of home
glass coffee pot on
the ring on the stove
Mourning dove nest
for the momma to fill
nestled in the crook
of the kitchen windowsill
Canasta deck withering
wax on stiff plastic
settled into sediment
shuffled elastic
Southern sweet tea
in the rushing bloodstream
My lips are chapped dry
where I sleep as I breathe
Rapid eye groovement
dreaming of home
Morning takes me over
with my heart overblown
Bank account sapped
on the first a.m. flight
Dreamer’s delirium
I’ll see you tonight.
Categories:
canasta, family, happiness, introspection, life,
Form: I do not know?