Shenanigans and poppycock -
the wild wood with unrest.
Will amazon deliver the chest
of acorns and walnuts before Winter sets?
On their “I” phones, those with bushy tails
don’t want to work for nibbles. Kips,
after a long, long, long day of texting,
waiting, shopping. Others hoard or steal
those treasure troves from every tree.
Collectibles, particularly nasty -
why would a little squirrel want a Barbie,
when a grownup can buy out and store
each box, in perfect shape, for a decade?
“Play with your phone, little kitten.”
Shenanigans and poppycock,
finger-licking goodness of ‘rents,
loving the kits with abominable gifts.
11/15/2022
Contest: THE CRAP SHOOT #2
Sponsor: John Lawless
Categories:
kips, animal, christmas, perspective, winter,
Form: Free verse
By train, plane, by wings,
I hear the angels sing.
Their featherbell sleeves,
golden flutterbies weave
in mind-blowing confection.
I remember the affection
for long distance kin and kith —
missing links that make me writhe,
and Niagara Falls - its plunging
neckline, of psychedelic rainbows, lunging
catapult of sentiment and mist.
The kiss of sunflowers on smiling lips,
cruising excursions, explorations then kips.
The reward of sleep in the rocking cabin -
the deep with its sonorous spin.
Let the feathers fly! In travel, they win
and at last I’ll be calm of Hesperus dreams,
those dreams that come apart at the seams.
I hold tightly to sleeves, that cure of Spring,
a blizzard of lucid color that true living brings.
3/5/2021
Couplets - most with rhymes
Categories:
kips, angel, butterfly, color, life,
Form: Couplet
“Dead folks can't hurt you none. It's the ones that are alive,
you have to watch out for.” Grace Metalious, Peyton Place
THE FOURTH FLOOR OF NOWHERE
The back room on the 4th floor of nowhere,
nowhere but our love, hidden from the lips
of those hustlers and backbiting peasants.
Spring to Winter, we’d get our kicks and kips.
We’d stash water bottles, cash and her
stare, where no one would bother to look.
Her blackmail ended our tryst and her life.
We played her game but not by her book.
We knew one day they’d go room to room,
key in hand, a skeleton to find, no remorse.
We’d have goosebumps near each other
but be careful to keep our eyes off course.
Forever is a long time of regret and forget.
A tongue that dared to cross our path, so
unimportant, forgotten, a regrettable life.
A backroom hush but a ghostly shadow.
We don’t dare recollect our lust of youth.
The handholding, the kiss, rose petals in bed.
We are unhappily married to our secrets.
Life in Peyton Place is to keep promises dead.
9/8/2020
Craig Cornish’s The Fourth Floor of Nowhere Poetry Contest
Categories:
kips, death, lost love, lust,
Form: Rhyme