the ghost was slippery, he outfoxed the wizard tonight
Took over the cauldron, for he was big, bold, white and bright.
The other animals were astounded that he got his own way
But this ghost is overbearing, every night, every day.
He poured in some liquids and said words no one had ever heard
They thought for a while he was being silly, rather absurd
Bubbling and swishing suddenly in the cauldron occurred
Something amazing was happening, we were all reassured.
Curly haired Carlotta brought her curls onto our bus
Filling it up from seat to seat, annoying many of us.
Her hair grew an inch every fifteen minutes you see.
We could barely speak to each other for it was not wee.
These curls went down the aisle and into the seats.
Two guys sitting on some of it were known as the Petes.
We cannot cut it, they told us, for we did that another time.
Those curls transmogrified into thugs and held us hostage until almost nine.
the words coagulate, stuck
in the back of my throat, I choke
on the words I cannot seem to
acknowledge, articulate, remember.
aphasia commandeers my body as her vessel
inarticulate and mute
and in so much pain
but she doesn't seem to care.
when it matters all the soliloquies falter
and stumble from my lips, lame
and inadequate
like everything else i touch.
A delightfully deep azure blue sky commandeers the aurora borealis
Somber Swedes slumber in used pup tents, unaware of this beauty
Visitors stare into the night, hoping to capture the sight forever
Some use film, but it is not 3-d, so it does not capture the ambiance.
No one speaks, the air insists on silence, there is not one rustle.
Not even a shush or a hush; the night is completely still.
Tranquility marries herself with the night sky; it is a delicate evening.
I stare into the sky, marveling at the beauty of Norway.
September sixteenth, wedding change of gears.
I wait my turn an usher by my side.
Surprise! my arm, the groom now commandeers.
Revised rehearsal plan requests his bride,
a special treat for mom moves me to tears.
September 16, 2022
remembrance of 22 years ago, my son
escorts me to my seat at his wedding.
Sponsor Andrea Dietrich
Contest Name Remember September
My third cousin Ivanic has IMM Disorder.
Without pausing for breath, he commandeers all conversations.
Family reunions are ruined because no one else can speak.
His mother, Elzoretta says “Go sit somewhere else Ivanic!”
Ivanic has hundreds of degrees; he is an expert on everything.
He does not interrupt you, he simply does all of the talking.
Once he bites into you like a wood tick on a boar’s head, it’s over.
IMMD is a horrible disorder to experience. Some never return.
I finally figured out a strategy. Always sit at Elzoretta’s table.
He is not allowed to sit with her, right? Others have also figured it out.
We had to build an enormous round table now,
Where we are all heading, hoping Ivanic will sit anywhere else.
How many times do I start to quickly and easily reply
To a comment and realize with a humdrum of a sigh
That it has become part of a poem insisting to be let out
So I hurry to a blank page, and throw it down with a shout.
And how many times do I stare at this stuff
And wonder where it has come from, it’s sordid and gruff.
Is there a monster residing inside my pea brain?
One who will not release me until we reach the refrain.
But I am no songwriter, you protest as she takes over your head.
Hush little baby, she says. Commandeers and is bossy with pencil red.
You are irritated beyond reason, but aggressive she is in charge now.
How many of the rest of you have a muse who is a strong dairy cow?
Mrs. Robin, busy as a bee
visits my home's skylight annually
She builds a nest there carefully
her private retreat, only I can see
She commandeers my yard militarily
hopping to and fro imperiously
Ever seeking bark or twig assiduously
to feather her penthouse more comfortably
A half-dozen blue eggs she lays surreptitiously
Settling down over them protectively
Sheltered from the elements so cunningly
She awaits their hatching expectantly...
One day, her chirpings' cease, inevitably
Mrs. Robins' dreams realized successfully
She's flown the coop, perforce happily
Her nest, forlorn ~ stares at me emptily
July 10, 2020
Bird Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
This happens daily.
We are all in the lunchroom
Laughing and having a great time
Co-workers who truly like being together
When Miss Doom and Gloom Enters.
She is full of worst scenario stories, and she
Begins to tell them, not stopping for breath.
All conversation comes to a halt as she commandeers us.
We tried moving our lunches to other places in the building
But alas, she always finds us, perpetually talking,
Never listening, and she has high drama daily.
We have dared to interrupt
But it works in no way
For she continues her stories, as if no one else has spoken.
It is trying, to say the least.
I sit alone in my room, eating now,
Hearing her incessant rambling through the wall
For she is loud too.
When a thunderstorm evokes despair
birds fall silent: in the somber air.
Grey clouds clot: choking a waning sun,
reclaiming shadows that Day had won.
Gaia showers: as wet skies are bled,
while mournful trees gather tears to shed.
In a shroud of mist, deprived of light,
Nature's flowers close their petals tight.
A cold chill commandeers every breeze,
and the trees shiver, with trembling leaves.
The sky is bruised with darkening hues:
swathes of purple on diminished blues.
When lightning flashes, its jagged eye:
thunderclaps boom, with a mighty cry!
'...stick with me baby, I'm the guy
that you came in with.'
Luck Be A Lady Tonight - Frank Sinatra
The way she twists her hair
and places back that wayward
wisp behind her ear, the way she
checks her face in every mirror.
How she shimmers to the ladies'
room to re-apply her lipstick,
or she lingers irresistibly
as you politely hold the door ajar.
The way she glides so smoothly;
you're speechless as she
commandeers the room; 'neath her spell
you're both the best man and the fool.
The way she twists her hair
and places back that wayward
wisp behind her ear, the way she
checks her face in every mirror.
How she shimmers to the ladies'
room to re-apply her lipstick,
or she lingers irresistibly
as you politely hold the door ajar.
The way she glides so smoothly;
you're speechless as she
commandeers the room; 'neath her spell
you're both the best man and the fool.
The way she twists her hair
and places back that wayward
wisp behind her ear, the way she
checks her face in every mirror.
How she shimmers to the ladies'
room to re-apply her lipstick,
or she lingers, irresistible,
as you politely hold the door ajar.
The way she glides so smoothly;
you're speechless as she
commandeers the room; 'neath her spell
you're both the best man and the fool.
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