Confusing walk
It was the longest street in the world shops on each side
selling salami and cheese depending on the shop, the same product
had a different name proclaiming to be the best.
Today the shops are empty, save for a few dogs, people are tired
of salami and cheese, you can’t fool them with a fancy name hinting
they are Italian made in Livorno; what a fraud!
In shops, there were cheese parties for mice sitting pretty nibbling
the stray dog and I were not invited; we kept on walking in the hope
of finding a butcher selling hamburger meat and dog bones.
Where the street ended in another country consisting of sheep
clog dancing shepherds, my sister had a hotel, I could get a room
In the basement, but preferred to board a clipper sailing to Japan.
The colors opened up my artist mind and made her cry.
With delight, enthusiasm pouring down my body.
Which is svelte, tall, the fragrance of cherry blossoms.
The creatures here are asexual, so there is no pressure.
My utopia is a stress-free zone, where all cares are gone.
Misery, heartbreak and grief are not allowed in this wonderland.
We each live in our own pod, nurturing ourselves in soul satisfaction.
Ideas parade up and down my author’s mind day and night.
I pick up a canvas and begin to paint. The next pod is singing.
She has a gorgeous voice, and I can elect to hear or not to hear.
You heard me right. We can put each other’s pods on mute.
I have muted the other guy’s pod. He is clog dancing day and night.
I see his larger pod shaking, but no longer have to listen to his taps.
Cinnamon sugar toast is ready, brought to me with a side of bananas.
Warm and toasty! My guy's name is Serve. He is assigned only to me.
I have cold chocolate milk, hot coffee or orange juice he offers.
I am lying in the land of my dreams, without any cares or woes.
If I had known Utopia was this terrific, I would have died sooner.
Chicken with a thousand legs so bright
Why do you do what you do to me?
Your clog dancing kept me up all night!
From now on this is what had better be….
Lay off booze, chicken. You are way too tight!
Unless you want me to be Simon Legree.
Chicken with a thousand legs so loud.
Why do I hear you all night in my dreams?
Why do you annoy me with yesterday’s cloud?
Would you rather be baked, fricasseed or steamed?
Trixie, who loves orange, is today clog-dancing.
Her ready exhibitions are becoming so frequent many
poets would be embarrassed
My poems are super confident, so I go along with my enthusisatic minion.
Trixie is thrilled with our stuff.
All prissy delightful, not wanting to edit anything.
Please let us not use "I and me, again," I beg her.
So overdone I tell her.
She laughs and stomps on my finger that was heading for the delete button.
Our top five themes are dragons, pirates, orange, Trixie and me.
A bit boring, I tell her. Let's try some new material.
Trixie gets angry and gets out her battle axes.
She leaves my dendrite alley in despicable shape, hanging in pieces.
She saturates the walls of my imagination with
Sexy, sassy, orange, and yellow. Sexy! Come on! I yell. She howls happiness.
I watch in fascination as she grabs the pen and does her damage.
The bossiest orangest most polka dotted craziest poetic muse ever.
I count on her energetic bossy attitude almost daily.
Old time Appalachians deep within the hollows.
Self-sufficient, hard working, fine mountain folks
With farming, barn raising, and crafting skills,
Logging, mining and music to pleasure the ear.
Devoted to family, kin gathering they do.
Faith in the wisdom of their elders is seen.
Church going and revivals, strengthening their beliefs,
Appalachians are dignified, spirited mountain folks.
Gathering of families, generations of kin.
Folk music, old songs blended with time.
Mountain twanged voices singing out songs-
Flatfoot or clog dancing, kicking up heels,
Fiddle picking, foot stomping, hand slapping thighs,
Ballads of life's struggles, celebrations and griefs,
Brought over by immigrants generations ago.
Brings a sense of home for the young and the old.
A dedication to a friend of mine.
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