my castle is twenty-six foot high in the top of two cottonwood trees
My daddy made it for me, he called it a tree house, but it is my fort.
My refuge, my camouflage, my hearth, my home.
I can sit here all day with a pillow, a swig of water and seven books.
I would make it eleven books, but the library is chintzy.
They will only allow me to check out seven a day.
My castle is where I go when I want to remember the best days of my childhood.
Summer days, when I could do what I wanted when I wanted.
though it has been fifty years, I can hear neighbor’s voices, and I smile.
Remembering their conversations, their arguments, their personalities.
I will never have a castle any better than this.
feed me butter
give me pie
gaining weight?
I wonder why
Siting in a recliner
for one hour, now two
kicking off my instincts
Maybe three will do
Sitting sedentary
barely moving at all
bring me chocolate cake
and don’t make the piece that small!
Gaining weight my pretty?
Gee I wonder why.
I want another piece of rhubarb.
Don’t be so chintzy with that pie!
On Hallows Eve Octobra always has a dance
Her feet are fancy in heels, to give a better prance
the rest of us sit around getting heavier yet
While she dances with her familiar, a kittenish pet
Her place is decorated with ghosts and stuff
She has gone all out for us, sure enough
We sit and watch Octobra dance until the food is gone
Then we leave too, way before daylight or dawn
You see, Octobra is not a voracious eater in the least
We get teensy plates of appetizers that would not fill a beast
I am a giant goblin, and my cousin frank is a t-rex-wannta-be
So we have to leave early to catch food too slow to flee
After I read all of the Trixie Belden books I could find
My aunt Janice allowed me to read one of her Nancy Drew books
She had a book case filled with them.
She was chintzy with them, only allowed me to borrow one at a time.
I used to beg to take two, but she had her standards.
So I took one at a time, disliking how she was slowing down my progress.
I never liked Nancy Drew as much as Trixie Belden anyway.
Folderol and balderdash,
nonsensical, sweet whimsy.
Musical, so airily,
she prances round the elm tree.
Mimsy do, in flimsy blue
with bells upon her head, ho!
Where she goes, I do not know,
exquisite, never chintzy.
A woodland sprite, her face alight,
she coyly beckons fireflies.
Off into the dark, they go,
playing out a dance mid-flight.
Mirthfully, her friends in tow,
she’s chasing moonbeams in the night.
A staid old art collector in Quincy
dotes on cats but with people is chintzy
He willed old shoes to his wife
and to his son a jackknife
His tabby got a Monet and Da Vinci
Written 2/13/22
He saw it in one of those chintzy antique shops,
recalled that it was made for travelling musicians
that wanted to work out scores while not being overheard.
It was old and all wood. When he tapped the keys
they clacked, but each key seemed to clack
in a slightly different tone,
as if the former pianist’s thoughts and intentions
had somehow imprinted
a musical counterpart into the inarticulate wood.
When he got it home
he took it up and placed it on a table,
stretched stiff fingers and played.
He played like he had never played before!
This was real, not an air-guitar thing.
Chopin and Mozart melodies flowed through his hands
as he sped through deft keyboard exercises,
annotating quarter and eighth notes,
executing perfect tonality and phrase.
Tomorrow he intends to jazz-duet with Oscar Peterson.
'Man, it feels good to be dumb', he thought.
A million dollars!
Are you kidding me?
I would have been happy with a million cents,
A million fried shrimp, a million point on Allpoetry.
But a million dollars!
What?
You are not kidding, right?
First I dance around the room, then I get all my lists out.
I have been thinking about this for years.
I want my own fire truck - not a toy one, but a real one.
I want my own art barn, complete with loft, and a spiral staircase.
Three-story, but now, well, why don't we must make it four-stories?
Pop in an elevator too.
Why be chintzy?
An elevator at both ends!
Next I will go to the pound and release all the dogs.
I am the new owner, am I not?
We will need to buy them an island, and I will have to
hire some care-takers; children probably, for they talk dog the best.
A million dollars! I am going to be so selfish! More selfish
Than I have ever been before.
Just ask me for money.
The answer is no.
I am greedy already, and I love it!
We're members of the Gardens;
We pay our yearly dues.
Their parking lot, though (15 bucks!)
We have to pay to use.
They toss in several passes
Each year when we renew,
But why make members pay at all?
I haven't got a clue.
This policy is bogus
And another thing I hate
Is on those chintzy passes
There's an expiration date.
A membership to something
Should have privileges and perks,
For what's the use of joining
When that rule no longer works?
Distilled sun invades
to project on whitewashed screen their
chintzy-hotel love,
melding the serenading shades.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 13 / 01 / 2017
Do you see the inner light of God
A love so powerful it could boiled all the oceans
Or are you blinded by earths man made
Chintzy trinkets, bulbs and string lights
Love
Do Decide to Think Upon
Amongst your midst a great poet there now is
James Horn happens to be the name of his
Who other poets always love having around
Each poem often has left them spell-bound.
Out of the ordinary all of Horn's poems are
Exclusively exceeding others way by far
Writing awkward poems is primary attribute
Religiously endowed and of all evil never a root.
By Grace of God will be graciously inspired
And for a few years now has been retired
To Super Duper Poetry Soupers poem is sent
To be one of the day receiving a compliment.
Make compliments wonderful and not chintzy
Just because poem was born of and by me
Had come to a conclusion to write this one
To read and then do decide to think upon.
In Spring young thoughts turn to fancy
life around us is renewed
ladies wearing gowns all chintzy
Do entice men with a curtsey
careful least it's a wedding bed
in Spring young thoughts turn to fancy
Now the ladies, a few doxy's
love to spin, their skirts all spread
Ladies wearing gowns all chintzy
Love comes courting in ecstasy
the fashion this year is redheads
in Spring young thoughts turn to fancy
The ladies are so full of moxie
lead men on but no maidenhead
ladies wearing gowns all chintzy
Fluttering eyelids so saucy
men their passions this time unfed
in Spring young thoughts turn to fancy
ladies wearing gowns all chintzy
Old chintzy flowers on lampshade,
The yellowed tag says ‘half a crown’,
Yet memories ne’er dim nor fade.
The price you paid a whole week’s wage,
Seems nothing in the here and now,
Expensive in old money’s age.
Oh, how the years have hurried by,
The children grown now parents too,
And dreams still dance in the lamp’s sigh.
That ‘Half a crown’ now seems well spent,
A lasting thought that’s here to stay,
Convincing us of love’s intent.
The lamp now sits by my chair,
It brings you here within its light,
And I speak as if you were there.
Form: Enclosed Triplets
Cheated on her three times, said it was her reluctance to marry
Each time she took him back, finally on her finger his ring she’d carry
But even as she wore it, her fickle lover cheated again
She threw the chintzy ring at him -- cheap zirconium
Knowing he had a gun in his car, stealthily she had to act
Purchased a container filled with gas, a lighter in her pocket packed
Drove to his neighborhood, parked down the street in a wooded lot
Saw them making love through the window, her stomach tied in a knot
Suddenly it occurred to her that her own life would be jeopardized
Knowing she would be denied heaven, her fear was energized
She threw the oil can away, made haste to a nearby church
Praying aloud, she asked for guidance as on the pew she perched
Contrite as always, seeking sympathy, next day he appeared at her door
But instead of a man she saw a beast, in flames his soul would rest evermore
Justice has a way of coming about; her murderous thoughts had vanished
But from her life this pathetic loser would forever be banished
*Entry for Susan’s “Getting Away with Murder/Murderous Thoughts”
By Carolyn Devonshire, October 4, 2011
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