Watching & waiting while in hiding
and faking
Views for the taking but unaware
what is waiting
Freezing & shaking but is it fear or
its weather?
Snapshots for the taking posing for
them cuz it's clever
Good best & better to shy away
from the faking
Shade is made by the sun but it's
above what it's making
Shaking what has been rooted
leaving behind hollow winds
Seeds will grow from your efforts
toward the sky lose or win
Unoriginal in sin as we have seen
this before
Jumping the broom of timelines
looking for knobs on the door
Turning in bed with a snore as if
you've slept through the test
Sleepy & lost in a dream snoozing
on good better best
Picture a snap at its best frozen
in moments of time
Painting a picture in jest with a
stoic face like a mime
Mimicking raps like a mime with
painted face like a canvas
The dry humor so wet that only
fish understand it
Above thee underhanded so keep
the slightest of hand
Close to the vest like a secret
ducking birds on their Stan
Peacock with a colorful stance
with truth outshining the lies
Your essence shines like the sun
& this is what is despised
Puzzling Relationship
Our edges seem so similar
Meant to fit, snuggly together
The tongue of your dry humor
Locks into the Grove of my clever wit
Forming attachments in every aspect of our lives
An image appears of our happy union
Then, as we filled in more and more,
Layer upon layer,
I found pieces that did not fit just so.
I rearranged my shape,
Just a bit, that's okay...
To force the connection that began so easily.
Pull this bit in, push this and fold here,
Until a ***** image forms
It is the appearance of "Us", but off.
Until, we no longer recognize ourselves.
Is it possible to unravel this mess?
Once we tear the pieces apart
Will they ever regain their original shape?
My pieces, unlocked from yours, seem deformed,
Misshapen, wonky.
Who is this Picasso I see in the mirror?
John is a Christian man, a philosopher, and a poet that
offers his talents, beliefs, and insights to all
honestly, openly, and with a compassionate, understanding heart,
never preaching, and yet, sure of his convictions.
His quote, "Sunsets are biased, because, they are naturally one-sided,"
allows us a glimpse of his good-natured hyperbole and dry humor.
More than a talented poet, John is to music what white
is to snow, the two are virtually inseparable.
Lyrical poems are his favorite mode of expression and
that allows him to combine his two loves, excelling at both.
Over the years, I've gotten to know John through his pen, but we
never met, till one day he dropped by, and I got to shake his hand.
(Acrostic)
01/09/2021
Capture the Essence Poetry Contest
N/A Judged 2/20/2021
NA Poem From a February 2021 Judged Contest - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
There once was a shutterbug named Louie
Whose dry humor was a trifle screwy.
To a saguaro he said
Hands up lest I shoot you dead.
A shot; a flash; kablooey went Louie.
Date: 07/01/2019
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
We worked together
in the airless cubicle gulag
on the surface of the moon
during the last ice age
Diligently scurrying under
the bright artificial lights
composing odes to poverty
with great purpose and poise
Dodging the executive ghouls
who skulked the narrow halls
Lon Chaney and Boris Karloff
howling as the villagers fled
But there he would be
in a state of perpetual calm
absorbing the vortex of chaos
a tall black-skinned Buddha
Always the one to rise above
the daily details and deviations
always keeping his balance
even with one foot in the air
An open and private man
I never got to know well
some glimpses and peeks
but the film never developed
Filled with a sly dry humor
engaged to illuminate not shame
the spark in his dark pupils
came from a clarity of heart
His was a living credo of resolve
of stepping back not rushing forward
an involved evolving philosophy
in quiet and thoughtful motion
I will miss him
I will think of him
whenever I take a leap
and am not sure where to land
A summer storm has struck upon the stage.
Like clouds, faces in the crowd change to black.
As lightning triggers sudden disengage,
tonight’s entertainment can stay on track.
The wit he’s stored within his mind’s spice rack
can use this summer rain in which to mull.
Dry humor, soaking wet, delivers smack
and thunderous applause says he’s not dull.
This stand-up comic entertains without a lull.
June 20, 2018
a Spencerian stanza
OH NO ME THINKS I HAVE DRY HUMOR
ME THINKS
Me thinks my foot went under
Oh what a sight I do utter
My man did say a hard blunder
Oh no, I did do a shiver
I now see him go asunder..
Just for the fun of it....
Written: Dec. 1, 2015
Theresa
Who are you?
A seamingly simple question. That just requires a four word answer.
I am my name, but that is not my answer.
My blood is southern aritcrat, with the pride of the wandering gypsey in my heart.
My bones proclaim me native while my skin cries something differant. I ;ike to
write poetry but cannot write prose. I used to speak with a lisp, but thanks to
some doctors now I do not. I do not understand sarcasm and wit is lost on me,
But give me dry humor and I can laugh until there are tears in my eyes, I hate
being called cute, although I have a pixie face. I am a child of the night and
despise the morning. I read a little too much and probably should do more math.
I enjoy science and drama. And participate in both.
But all they really want is just simply my name.
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