The ultimate test of any relationship is to be able to disagree, while still holding hands. Anyone who knows Mrs. B and me can certainly tell you something about having arguments. Over the years, we have had our share of 'doozies'. We are the perfect example of what happens when you put two Taurus’s in one room. But there is still no one whose opinion I value more.
Every argument
needs no winner or loser
only solutions
Categories:
doozies, poetry,
Form: Haibun
My will is ill, sick, sick, sick
with gut-full of menace and bile.
Tongue-tied, anger locked-up inside
I stayed on the high-side.
and let my vicious stinging reply slide.
My rehearsals all played-out internal.
Oh what doozies I had in store,
pre-recorded for live slap down.
But the tempest taunt stayed indoors
shadow-boxing, shouting out insults
to mirrored walls and glass ceilings
It was good to lance the boil, pus expelled.
The hallowed high ground can be a lonely place
where restraint quells the struggle locked-in.
The squirm and fraught fight fades to frustration
by doggedly accepting that I made the right decision.
On another day, things stored away
will surface in a considered way.
Be calmer, let Karma's retribution gel
Bring it on!
Categories:
doozies, anger,
Form: Free verse
Sometimes when I write, I tend to stretch the truth.
Same as when I gossip; I've done that since my youth.
It's not so much deliberate, but to tell a story well,
Folks tend to stray from tedious facts to magnify the tale.
This habit's often utilized a bit, I have surmised,
In speeches heard at funerals for loved ones eulogized.
By writers of the news I'd say it ought not be employed.
But “doozies” can be found inside almost any tabloid.
I think, for my defense, especially writing nonsense,
I need to find the place to get my own poetic license.
I pose to you this question- In my practice as a poet,
If I get myself a license then, to whom should I then show it?
for Let 'er rip (the mention of poetic license made me want to do this one!)
Categories:
doozies, humorous, writing,
Form: Rhyme
That blasted recurring dream!
Time after time, the lair appeared;
and he was a huge movie star,
but I couldn’t recall his name.
The teasing, taunting, lying jerk;
night after endless night,
he haunted my subconscious;
making and breaking promises,
that I seemed to crave hearing, from him.
I couldn’t understand,
why I kept having that blasted dream;
I don’t even know that,
he was a real star;
he was in the dream, though.
Now, dreams have a funny way,
of presenting archetypes;
mind came up with some…doozies.
Imagine my surprise,
when I realized that,
he was me;
deceiving myself.
Categories:
doozies, dream, imagery, poems, poetry,
Form: Prose
Andrea D?...No brainer:
Dandy
Andie
Or in her younger, wilder days she may have been:
Randy
Andie?
(Just kidding! Just kid...Ouch!)
I have no choice but to categorize several poems by my mentor as:
Guzzi's
Doozies
(Now don't YOU start on me Deb!)
Ms. Macmillan's writing style is quite modern so here-to-forth she is:
Trendy
Cyndi
(You're not gonna' hit me too are you Cyndi?)
It is rumored that Mr. O is a care-free soul so some might name him:
Groovin'
Ruben
And be sure to keep up with current South African events in the:
Suzette
Gazette
A Christmas poem composed by Carol Brown could be a:
Carol
Carol
Writer's block PD? No sweat!...Just a temporary case of:
Souper
Stupor
Okay, that's enough...
Categories:
doozies, funny, me,
Form: Footle
Have you ever met those people
Who just can't tell the truth?
To figure out what's right or wrong
You gotta be some kinda sleuth
Their lies always seem to get bigger
The more they tell it the more it grows
Trying to decipher what's fact or fiction
Well, nobody hardly ever knows
And let me tell you, I've heard some doozies
Especially about the one that got away
The first time they tell it, it's as long as your arm
But it grew three sizes the next day
And then there's those, who forget what they told
And make up a whole new tale
All you can do, is nod your head
And throw in an occasional, "Oh well"
One man even told me he two months to live
He had a hole in his brain, the size of a crater
Well, come to find out, he was almost right
He had a wreck, and died twenty years later
Then there's those, you know to be liars
They say, "If I'm lying may lightning strike me dead"
That's when I run for shelter
And look for something to cover my head
Lying will always lead to trouble
And the truth will set you free
For a liar never prospers
So please don't lie to me
Categories:
doozies, funnyme, me,
Form: Rhyme