CRAZY EIGHT
No one knew
When she arrived
Or when she'd disappear
She would just drift in with the wind
Ginned up
Like she'd be hitting
All the ritzy joints in town
And never without her bête noire, "Kitty"
A crazy eight midnight black Mercury Coupe
They were inseparable
A couple of cats on the prowl
In the tall grass
She sure was some kinda dame
A real pearl
You could count yourself lucky
If you bumped into her
But you know the thing about luck ...
a pop of brightness
fluorescent black lights
headlights in evening
a neon glow worm
Denmark northern lights
fireworks spark
glitzy ritzy
silver and gold
illuminate
impassioned
desirous
lightning
night light
eerie
glow
fancy dressed couples
sitting in ritzy cafes
sipping on mocha's
I love chrome bumpers
Sequins on headbands
Rhinestones on sweaters
Colored gemstones that are polished
Confetti, glitter,
Anything ritzy, ditzy or sparky
I love shiny things
Could I be a crow?
I put hot pink pajamas on my cat Scat.
She twists her tail, for she knows where she’s at
A sassy, brassy, classy, ritzy, ditzy, diamond cat.
worth all the trouble, said my cousin Pat.
For she is smug and self-assured, a joyful cat.
I hear her coming now, with her pitter pat.
Dressed in her fancy pajamas, my cat, Scat.
Uh-oh, I think what she is carrying is a live rat!
you can never be too fancy for life
wearing pretty things takes away strife
you do not believe me? Ask my neighbors wife
She is as glitzy, ritzy and shiny as a brand new steak knife.
The bird who dresses up her feathers is ready to impress.
A purple unicorn with hair flowers can never overdress.
A princess with a crown and a nineteen sixties dress.
All three are ready to greet the royal highness.
The abandoned Mansion was once owned by the Adams Family.
They were doing a terrific business in their lumberyard at the time.
Day laborers who were not busy were sent over to build their home.
It was gorgeous in its heyday, lovelier than anything else on the block.
There were other ritzy mansions, said my auntie, just not this ritzy.
We stared at the old abandoned Mansion; she looked sad.
Her grass had no roses or lilies, her concrete flower pots were broken.
What a shame, I said. Can we get closer? I want to take a better look.
You cannot go inside, Auntie said, but I think we can peek into windows.
I jumped back and screamed when I reached the window.
There is someone in there! She put her hand out and touched mine.
Two of my little cousins began shrieking in terror.
She made that up, Auntie said. She was trying to scare you.
I know what I had seen, and I was not making anything up.
I never went back, but sometimes I drive by and cringe.
That house is not abandoned.
Oh! No. I won’t wait until you’re seriously terminally sick
Or to expire in order to send you bouquets of ritzy flowers
Today is indeed the time, the hour to stand above the big brick
To show my love amidst the hubbub of seasoneless showers.
You are profoundly loved, dear colorful and calm princess
You are always on my mind, in my guts, my heart and my soul
You are always on top of the unbiased poll, on my pole
And I love you with an incredible passion since you are the best.
I want to give you a garden jammed full of exotic flowers
And invite gobs of colorful rainbows to dazzle you daily
While exposing my love despite of a series of uneventful hours.
Oh! It’s rewarding, classy and marvelous to celebrate joyfully
Under the pristine blue sky. It’s our anniversary, let’s enjoy life
To the fullest. Let’s move on, forget the sad past and the vile rife.
Copyright © August 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Morti Martha was from a bigger town
A glitzy town, a jazzy town, Las Vegas.
She had been a showgirl; is what I was told.
Not by her, but by many others.
She had visited our church once, and her clothes sparkled.
Rhinestones in church! Some of the staid members were askance.
I thought she looked ritzy and fine wearing sequined plastic baubles.
She wore an elaborate headpiece to her first PTA meeting.
“Is that gold leaf?” someone asked. A few tittered.
I thought Morti Martha looked gorgeous, so I sat by her.
“I love your headpiece,” I told her.
“They are the ones that started the rumors,” she said.
“I am buying in to please them.”
Some neighborhoods have to have your color pallet approved.
You can have gray, tan or light beige, but no snazzy colors that moved.
Oranges and reds are frowned on, and purples are put in a sad place.
To mention the word emerald would be more than a major disgrace.
These houses look the same in a sea full of ordinary and bland.
I never want to live in one of them said my aunt Ring-a-Mor-And.
Ring-a-Mor-And bought land outside the socialized city.
She wanted to fix her house up in rainbow colors, extremely pretty.
The gray and tan house owners get in their cars and run out to take looks.
I see their sad faces, and feel sorry for them in their plain little ugly sad nooks.
Ring-a-Mor-And’s house is glitzy and spritzy, and ritzy, and brings glee to me.
To thousands if the parade of cars is an indicator said my Cousin Bree.
blooms
bouncy
baby’s breath
busy bee balm
ritzy rose, glitzy gloxinia
zany zinnia, dear ditzy daisy
swanky saffron
flouncy phlox
bonnie
buds
I was never born a poet
But a pauper standing on a pulpit
Penning words in spring tide dings
Ritzy scribbling like trundling rings
Talons of my feet
Seething grounds I scratch and leet
Feathers I preen and wag
Over my scruff I rip and gag
On rivers and wells I soak and dip
Shimming on reflections I gobble or sip
Over hills and cliffs I hover and skip
Your face I slip over my lip
"Poetry brought life to a dreamer as a penner,
but why is life more important than poetry as a winner?"
(Prosebite)
The plaid couch was well-built in 1972.
We purchased it brand new from a ritzy furniture store.
I was not fond of the plaid, but it was fairly inexpensive.
Little Plaid could tell stories about my potato chip binges.
Many of them ended up in bits under her cushions.
Her Scotch guard was remarkable.
She is fifty-one years old now.
Sitting in my granddaughter’s sorority house.
They needed a couch.
It’s so comfy, we fight over it, she told me.
They had dolled it up with pillows and artwork.
It looks better there than it ever looked in my house.
Fifty-one and you have never aged, I tell her.
Plaid never looked so welcoming!
during cold season
coated with a snow blanket
winter ski spins fantasy
as far as eyes view
a vista of snow-clad slopes
a ritzy summer resort
Checked by HMS.COM - 5/7/7 - 5/7/7
Written: January 08, 2023
Winter Sedoka Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
Xylometry zaffre zacaton swirl on hyaloid "penumbra phylum".
"Magniloquent melodic" apodictic vinculum survey.
"Wandering wispy whooshes" by wisps of weird warbles.
"An augur awash" in dew shrivels grapevine burst.
"Chapter claim crafted" up by chimera once called an alibi.
"Baud beat" of boxy beauty, barren trees with fuzzy bark acoustic.
"Unsustainable vastitude whips" to leave an open sky.
"Myrsine moon marble", magical gem idol aroma.
"Ritzy rag ravisher" mesh shining in a flame with an azure
saw.
"Sumptuous Sirius in somber" spell mixed glory to find my
pattern.
Written: September 14, 2022
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