Mega Five
Mega Millions now five dollars a draw
for some folks not affordable at all
These lotteries originally a dollar to play
At two bucks a pick Powerball all the way.
Kittens up a tree
Four little kittens up a tree
none climb down scared I see
Spray with hose and two flee
Two stay up a little wet to be
Spraying won't work so I go away
but two kittens up a tree stay
Even mom cat couldn't coax them down
up a tree two kittens hang around
Maybe at night two kittens flee
under cover of darkness down the tree.
Coffee Black
Need my coffee black and strong
brewing on the stove top all day long
Keeps me going with that jive
wakes me up knowing I am alive
Pour it hot from that coffee pot
cup after cup body craves a lot.
The Bystander
Looking in from afar,
I witness your undoing.
It is a quiet, wretched thing—
a state of affairs I can no longer mend.
You move without a mirror,
blind to the jagged edges of your choices,
unaware of how the world recoils.
Your actions have grown sharp and ugly.
I try to scrub you from my mind,
but you are a ghost in my periphery,
repeating the same hollow patterns
without a flicker of remorse.
You are digging a well with your own hands.
When you finally fall in,
I will not climb down to find you.
I will simply drop flowers into the dark
and walk away.
Goodbye.
I will see the finest of my times
In moments I'm tangled in the turmoil of my
Own vines
Wrapped up in life's thrills and throws
Dogged and vexed by taunts and woes
I see myself in victory and heights
But failed cause I believe in my own might
I will climb down onto roads of time
Bothered and stalled by forks and wineds
But the path i take will vary and sway
Till I see his sickle at the dusk of my day
Santa claus
never uses the door
He prefers to climb down the chimney .
Being quite fat
How does he achieve that
It's also a little bit windy.
So come Christmas eve
I'll wait and see
If Santa climbs up on my roof.
If he fails to appear
Then it's quite clear
Santa's story is not really true.
Ahh!
soothe is an abyss I cannot seem to climb down into.
when I realize I am comfortable I feel uncomfortable .
calamity
is all my body knows.
this little blue “calming” pill
does little but make one somnolent.
sleep deprivation is torture?
then I am my own castigator
There once was a monkey sitting in a tree
Eating banana's and watching TV.
He then stood up put on his coat and hat
And climb down from the tree in which he was sat.
He was board and wanted to explore
After seeing things on telly he wanted to know more
As time went by he remembered where he had been
Keeping in his memory the good and the bad things
He had seen
So don't just sit there open up your mind
Just go for a walk and see what you might find.
The day is fresh
Long before the sun yawns into the morning
The sound of bells clanging
Ropes whipping the mast into shape
Creaking of the old boats
A feint smell of lobster
Rises to meet me as the zip
Rasps towards my chin
Along the comfortable material
Of the gilet
Can the ocean be trusted?
No more than the weather
No more than a wild animal
However tamed they appear
Domesticated the ocean will never be
I climb down the wooden ladder
Into the trusty boat
I pause in the moment
Feet sensing the security of
My familiar friend
Stormy seas we have seen
Yet she welcomes me back
I sense her sigh with relief
A voiceless, palpable release
As I hoist the sail
Pushing away from the harbour wall
We both know
This is not the place for us
A gull invites us to follow
So we nod along
Crazy rabbits chomping on my lettuce
Deer eating the flowers right down to their nubs
Woodpeckers drilling right through the siding
Armadillos rooting in search of grubs
Squirrels trying to climb down the chimney
Possums and racoon dumping out the trash
Coyotes yip yapping all through the evening
Groundhogs under the shed hoarding their stash
Most times the back yard smells just like a skunk
The cat keeps bringing dead birds to my door
The neighborhood dogs bark when the wind blows
That’s country life in all of its splendor.
Stem the flow of your bleeding heart
Climb down off your pedestal please
Mind your own business for a change
Find a cure for your social disease
Life's too short for such petty games
There's more important things to do
Look at yourself in the mirror
You should point your finger at you
Away in the attic,
No dusting for years,
I'm sneezing and sneezing!
Eyes brimming with tears!
Now why did I come here?
For that box of books,
Too heavy and dirty,
Ruined my good looks!
Brown smears on my blue dress,
Smudges on my cheeks!
It's better I climb down,
Before someone peeks!
Atishoo! Atishoo!
Oh my! Falling down!
No wonder they call me
"The clumsiest clown"!!
If I lived in a warmer climate I would live in a tree
Not on a bare limb, but I would have a house built.
High up in the crook of it, at least twenty feet up.
With a bathroom, so I would never have to climb down.
I would have a dumbwaiter, so groceries could be delivered.
My dragon Prixite would be trained to maneuver it.
People could come see me by appointment only.
Two appointments a year – both in May.
I would spend my days leaning against Prixite,
Reading a stack of books, eating chocolate candy.
Maybe I would write a poem or two. Maybe a hundred.
Fox and deer would entertain me in the mornings.
At night I would hear a bobcat scream.
I would name her Salem, and relish in her sounds.
If a hoot owl moved in, I would name him Hermoine.
Of course you cannot visit. It is not May.
Serendipitous trippy flakes, when it snows in Georgia;
forecast bleak, cancelled week - not a dent in Minnesota,
but here in the bible belt angels shake their fists
full of gentle flurries. They surround the stately trees
and remind the pines of Christmas past -
January’s our month to shine. Blizzard? White out?
Banks of snow? of course not! This is the South - we lack plows.
We might hazard a walk down the street, the lovely white coat
of fresh paint under feet, but for yours truly, I need deer’s feet
to climb down and up my hill - balding boots will not do.
Flurries a little fuller, twirling, dancing, romancing. Precious
these times - even a robin’s adorned in an imitation
white mink coat, lilting hallelujahs on this holy morning.
1/16/2022
I am Sheberra, the Ruler of Christmas Town of Swiss Miss lore.
Overlooking the decorating that will begin at six minutes past four.
My subjects are getting off work early to begin satisfying me.
Some of the suck-ups may begin as early as a quarter past three.
It is two forty-six now, so I am high on my queen’s view ledge.
I can see some of the spies hiding under bridges; one is under a hedge
Christmas Town will be beautiful decorated to its height by tonight.
It will be a gorgeous, awesome, curiously terrific bright sight.
Some of my subjects will climb up here trying to coax me down.
They are not my regulars, rather new to merry ole’ Christmas Town.
The ones who know me, have already left gifts at my door.
Salmon sandwiches, tuna casserole, catfish cotton candy and more.
I will be haughty and dainty, and let them wonder and think.
My husband knows me better, I shall give him a wink.
We will be the Santa and Queen Sheberra of Christmas Town.
I can smell those delectable dishes calling, so now I climb down.
Could not find the kitty again; called her, she was too smart to meow.
At the top of the Christmas tree; dog told me with his gruff bow wow.
She was above two of my favorite glass bulbs, posed precariously.
Purple bulb from Russia, and my Gold K bulb from Grandma McPhee.
I removed them before I coaxed cat, who did not want to climb down.
Dog barking furiously now, he is a mighty hunter, this three hand hound.
Give me a break I told him, chasing him away from the Christmas tree.
I urged Poindexter to dismount; she was a head or two taller than me.
Poindexter knew she was in a heck of a fix, but she could not move.
So I put on some music, and I began to sway, shimmy and groove.
That did not work so I put some wet cat food on a plate.
The dog ran out from the kitchen and carried it off; what a mate!
Cat nip someone whispered inside my brain, it was the cat fairy!
So I sprinkled some around the rug at the bottom, it blew up kind of airy.
Poindexter was down fast, tree shook and quaked. She was very meek.
Had talk we always have, as it was her third time up there this week.
If Our Voices Went Up
If our voices went up
Into the sky,
Instead of front ways as
They do now,
The legend of Babel has
To take upon its burden
A new meaning.
I mean to say,
If you wished to speak to me,
And I to hear you,
You would necessarily have to stand below me.
In such a world, ladders,
Short ones mostly,
Would be very profitable:
Each conversation would consist of
much
climbing
up and down
the ladder.
"Hello." From below.
Climb down. Climb up.
"Good day."
I do not think we could converse very quickly this way.
Yet, why did I say that Babel must change?
Because Man would have built
The tower, not to seek the word of love from above,
But to hear the voices of all of mankind down below.
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