They spoke of lines
I did not see any
Oh, those blue ones?
Ha!
By the time I noticed them, my masterpiece was finished
I heard the last bit of the teacher’s instruction
“outside of the box”
I looked around but saw no box
I saw a dragon, elf, faerie, and VW bus
A mushroom came alive and flashed me with her round bottom
Words came rushing by
I snatched a few of them
They laughed and giggled
One of them kicked my finger hard
They would have their way; I was their puppet master
I am an artist, cartoonist, and poet
No one can advise me
I lean into my own truths
Listening to my spirit guides
They swarm me with ideas, and cannot be thwarted or stopped
They cannot be slowed down or discouraged
I am an artist; I am who I am who I am
We could have boobs in the 50’s and 60’s
We could have a nice round bottom.
We could be Vargas girls, on our way to being
Marilyn Monroe and Jane Mansfield.
That all changed in the wave of a twig.
Twiggy.
Skinnier than most twigs actually.
Svelte on its way to starvation.
She became the “new it girl”, the new look.
Karen Carpenter had never felt so fat.
She developed anorexia, which killed her.
Musical genius, now dead.
I blame that twig – Twiggy
And her manager
And those so-called glamour girls.
I prefer Vargas girls any old day.
Bought a tiny watermelon
Going to cut his top right off
Then cut his round bottom
So he won't topple and doff
Going to gut him with a scoop
Eating the guts until covered red
But spit out all that black slimy poop
Tonight won't be very early to bed
On the remains drawing a scary face
It will be so grotesque not a disgrace
Sharp, razor sharp exacto knife
Stab cut out those outlines all life
Now his grotesque face shines
So brightly that almost blinds
Our Jack-o-Latern will be best beast
A spooky treat a very delicious feast
(Rhyme sorta)
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