Montague Middleton’s matronly mother made marvellous munchy meringues
Montague Middleton’s most massive midriff made many a menu mistake
Montague Middleton met many maidens; Mother made mincemeat of most
Montague Middleton’s mother maintained, “Men mustn’t marry Miss ‘Fake’.”
Montague Middleton met Molly Milton, many men ‘met’ Molly more
Montague Middleton married Melissa; so many mad moans Molly made
Montague Middleton’s most massive mansion made more modest mansions mundane
Montague Middleton moved Molly in, making Molly both mistress and maid
Montague Middleton’s missus made many mouthwatering munchies
Montague Middleton’s missus made Monty’s mouth moisten most days
Montague Middleton’s missus met Molly, mentioning marital meddling
Montague Middleton’s mischievous mistress mocked Melissa’s malaise
So:
Montague Middleton murdered his missus
Montague Middleton married his mistress
But:
Montague Middleton made a mistake
For Montague Middleton’s mistress
Can’t bake
B Bloom Bootiful, Beautiful, Beatified, Blessed, Book Loving, Beis Neeman
L Likeable, Ladylike, Laughing, Learned, Listener
I Inimitable, Inquisitive, Inquiring, Interested, Interesting
M Matronly, Mothering, Mentoring, Mature, Middos Good, Matters
A Amiable, Attractive, Artistic, Adventurous, Articulate, Accountable
Y Yes full, Yearning, Yoga Lover & Loose, Yoghurt Pure White
E Edible, Erudite, Earnest, Educated, Enticing, Energetic, Eyes Green, Electric
H Humble, Honest, Hardworking, Homemaker, Heartful, Homey Heimish Honey
I Innkeeper Hachnasus Orchim, Irrigator with Tears
D Discoverer, Dreamer, Day Maker, Dutiful, Dresser Extraordinaire
I Individual, Inventive, Iridescent
S Spontaneous, Special, Super Star, Sure Thing, Safe Bet, Sagacious, Supernal, Spiffy, Spic N Span, Soothsayer, Seer of Obscure, Scrumptious, Tsinus, Soothing, Sleeper Olympic, Step Up, Secret, Spiritual, Soulful, Singing, Soaring, Something Else, Sympathy Provider, Shalom Beis Maker, SAS Patron, Sew Fabulous
Who's that swell-dressed, well-developed lady
Struttin' round the old North Pole?
Well, bless my soul!
That's Mrs. Santa.
You'd hardly recognize her.
Lookin' like a million-dollar baby,
Heatin' up the cold North Pole.
Back in control,
That's Mrs. Santa.
She's had a transformation.
She was always short and plump but pretty,
Matronly, a "six" at best.
But after just a month in New York City,
She came back slenderized,
And glamorized,
And tantalizing as Ms. Mae West.
Now they're doin' fine up there in their icy palace
Where she outshines the aurora borealis,
And Santa's one happy gent,
In debt, but more than content
That it was money well-spent
To reinvent Mrs. Santa.
January's cold caress gives way
To February's brief embrace.
The blustery winds of March hold sway
'til blushing April shows her dewy face,
Then coquettishly she'll skip away
And leave us mid the darling buds
And wrapped up in the lusty arms of May.
Joyful June comes bouncing in
With matronly July up close behind her.
The golden days of August reign
Then pale beneath September's scholarly reminder
That sly October's opalescent bliss
Will leave us eager for November's frosty kiss
'til gay December dances through
All tinselly and merry.
And even though we know she cared,
She'll leave us thrilled but unprepared
To face and try to gracefully embrace
Another January.
It is hard to walk in the sand especially with boots and a heavy rifle.
Manuel and I would sit on a rock and watch the moon give birth to
a distant blue Africa.
Franco's Guardia Civil were not all thugs. A few were poets.
Manuel's father had worshiped the general and had blessed
the day Guernica 'that Marxist nest' had been flattened.
That was decades before he was born, yet Manuel still patrolled
the beach, weaving between sunbathing tourist seeking nonexistent saboteurs.
On his rounds the young conscript fell in love - often, but in winter
(when his sneering corporal was away), he would sit in the bar,
tongue curled like a snail shell, dedicating lurid hyperbole
to every female foreigner that had smiled at him, and to all
the Catalan girls that never did.
That night the moon seemed to translate for us.
He asked me earnestly:
if I thought Franco would ever lift the ban on bikini's?
"Never!" I replied, "The Pope and the Rightists are against it."
Manuel rose and shuffled sadly away, his rifle dragging on the sand.
That night the moon came close, to bask on Manuel’s beach,
and she without a stitch of cloud-cover over her matronly form.
Now screen advertisements come with the territory
And taunt me with daily diversity
Grabbing my imagination and desire,
Setting my vanity on a proverbial fire.
There’s a dress, so gorgeous how it calls,
Oh, I have to have that come this fall,
Until my senses crawl back in, I know
It would make me look like a matronly hen.
Halloween Moon Crabs
A tide rises to leave behind hundreds of tossed colourful halloween moon crabs to stroll
Craving social connections like homeless souls furtively hunting their unsown roots
Celtic calendar hides matronly lunar freeing guised children and bodiless souls
Five more years for the halloween moon, till then crabby purple claws in orange suits
October10, 2015
Contest: Halloween Moon
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Form: Quatrain
My flower
My precious flower
The flower that gave out many flowers
Flowers including me.
You were my flower
Yes, the mother flower
The flower that withered without been sick.
I knew one day we might depart
You first or me
But I never thought of you
Just departing so fast, so easily, so silently
Without a good bye..!
you were not old; Matronly beautiful
You marked the beauty of our world
you made the scent of our garden
The light of our heaven.
I always prayed for you to wait a little
Just few minutes to see me grow
I dreamed you to enjoy my flowers
The new garden I'm creating from my seeds.
I wanted you to mentor the little roses of mine
How to be beautiful in and out
How to be beautiful forever.
Why you choose not to wait a little?
Why you just go that way?
What grub made you shrivel?
What Pupa withered you so fast?
Tell me...
Who should I blame then...
you or the creator of the chrysalis?
I just don't know
For sure, my heart will be sick forever.
FOGGY NIGHT ©
The white orb, saturated with
tidal flows, peers through the
veil.
A ghost ship slips up the fog
laden channel.
Night gulls. sing with strident cries
fog seeps in, the tide rolls out,
day is gone, the night creeps on.
Trees, dressed in ebony, drift by.
Water glistens, gold and wet.
Edges blurred night is soft and
tender, damp seeps into cloth,
hair, bone.
Tents of light spread over the
foggy landing.
Hunters of the sea know not day
nor night, fishers all,
white feathers stark against the
darkest shadows.
Palm trees, silhouetted in
ochre gauze, black brushes hard
with paint.
Pilings sway, their waists cinched
with rope.
Matronly sentinels, the craft finds
the woody bosom.
Trisha Sugarek
Butterflies and Bullets
I met Elizabeth
during my flirtation with English Literature in 1963.
Another lesbian,
pretty blonde with
soft hands and beautiful legs.
I used to pick up Elizabeth
at the counselling center
where she was trying to be cured.
When the university found her out
they hinged expulsion on her success.
I fell passionately
in love with Elizabeth
with all my post adolescent yearning,
the feel and the look of her.
She allowed me her company
and the freedom to dream.
Her father owned an
automobile dealership in Baltimore.
Well-to-do. I could never meet their expectations.
Part of a disguise for her parents,
she knew I wasn't very good at it.
I followed Elizabeth
doggedly and drove her
where she wanted to go.
When she looked for a job
after she left college,
I drove her from office to office.
An editorial job in a small business magazine,
I was glad when she came out beaming.
Elizabeth had been interviewed by love,
She and the matronly magazine owner
immediately set up housekeeping together.
I could have been a friend to both but I melted.
Elizabeth never wrote me letters.
Small furry, stripy, cuddly puss makes
Lots of noise as the early dawn breaks
And so the reluctant household wakes.
“Get out of bed now,
Come down and feed us for all our sakes,
We’re on our last miaow.”
The household can but do as it’s told,
This tabby cat is exceedingly bold.
So from my bed and into the cold
I creep to provide
The feline breakfasts as I was told,
With some milk beside.
This tabby cat is plump and quite cute,
Bossy and nurse-like, a real old boot,
Her every whim always bears fruit,
She bustles about.
She’s Hattie Jacques in a tabby suit,
Matronly with clout.
Her fur is sleek, her voice is sublime
What will she be like given more time?
Her bossy manner isn’t a crime.
Sometimes she holds back.
Her friend, an alpha cat in his prime
Is leader of the pack.
A kiss… A kiss… What is a kiss?
Depends on whom you ask.
Some can be just wonderful.
Then, some can be a task.
Soft, loving lips taste so sweet
To lovers when they meet.
But, matronly aunts and little boys...
It takes acrobatic feats.
When one is just a kisser
And the other just the kissed,
It seems to me there is to be
So much that is missed.
When one is just a kisser
And the other just the kissed
One cannot really hope to find
That often promised bliss.
One eager set of lips cannot
Complete what’s called a kiss.
If two, it takes to tango
Then one cannot do this.
So, if you think it’s blissful
To give someone a kiss
When two are really trying
You’ll discover what you’ve missed.
The colors in your sweater
do not grow here
but bloom without regard
in the mirror of your cheeks
We ran with arching strides
through seas of igneous poetry
written for our electric white lashes
Our layers of sturdy bone
And yes, there were times
we nearly escaped the snap of the metallic sky
the same confessor
behind matronly curtained hills
the only words to tie me here
are the mouthful that rattle my cup
yet I can always paint myself
miles deep beneath this anchor
Elegant
Reliable
Matronly
Adorable
Worthy
Indifferent
Loyal
Loving
Energetic
Non-judgmental
Entertaining
Never sad
Endless love
Wonderful
Educated
Level-headed
Lovely
to become an adult
aged like a fine wine
to possess a developed mind
to experience life
to be ripe with seasoning
to be prime in your reasoning
to harden your heart to hate
to be complete in your faith
matronly in your compassion
consummate in your praise
temperate in your reactions
mellow in your latter days
maturity to grow up in life
to be ready for Jesus Christ
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