My left sock filed taxes on a Tuesday frog,
while a cabbage sang opera to a confused log.
The moon ate a stapler with mustard delight,
then borrowed a canoe from the darkness of light.
I purchased a banana for seventeen clouds,
but the receipt was allergic to yodeling crowds.
A rhinoceros teacup performed ballet cheese,
and a watermelon sneezed in seven languages.
My toaster proposed to a decorative brick,
their wedding was speedy, suspiciously quick.
The minister hamster wore cinnamon pants,
while unicycling ferrets performed tribal dances.
At midnight a turnip became Vice President,
its policies largely were soup-oriented.
It promised free waffles for every raccoon,
and declared every Thursday a ceremonial spoon.
The end is approaching, or maybe a chair.
A penguin just shampooed the national air.
I leave you this wisdom, profound as a sock:
If potatoes can whisper,
then gravy can rock.
Fin.
Or asparagus.
She looked pretty at the Zebra crossing,
weaving slowly, her shampooed hair tossing,
cars stopped still, to allow her go across,
who wouldn’t stop to let a beauty pass!
She looked neither to her left nor her right,
body cutting out shape in pants bit tight,
eyes fixed on the messages on her phone,
tripping when side stepping a traffic cone.
She continued her walk on the pavement,
her gaze on phone, no other engagement,
people just getting out of her long strides,
moving out, leaning against walls on sides.
She will, let us pray, march on and reach home,
Walking in a dream with eyes on her phone,
Smart phone habits have made people road blind,
live in a cyber, not engage their mind.
a habit that has cost many their lives,
smart phones kill more now than do guns and knives,
when use road pay attention to surrounds,
watch each step well as your feet touch the ground.
not fashionable if on phone walking,
drivers, road users find it annoying,
drop habit, urge others to do the same,
can save lives, limbs, if this habit we tame!
In the edifice of memory, we slowly blend...
a citrus scent of tangy orange peels
with freshness sniff of cinnamon cakes.
an ephemeric smell of wet shampooed hair
with a spritz of cologne ruminating the spray.
an evening brew of chamomile soothed tea
burbling in resonance with expreso sunrise.
a whiff of sandal lingering in bath towel
with an ambrosial soul, in lavender incense.
that seductive night with a jasmine garland
delighting feminine fragrance in a rose pool.
perfumed petals wafting on gentle breeze
with a nostalgia of infused wet petrichor.
In the castle of these redolent remembrance
transfusing our breath, inhaling an invisible
It's love at first smell, an odor that's too near
diffusing pheromones of aromatic souvenirs.
Far away by the oceanside I sit and watch the seagulls fly
inside a pale orange sun that has yet to warm a reposing sand
Over by the boardwalk the air still hums of yesterday's feet
two youngsters feeding pelicans perched on feathered height
The smell of fried shrimp coming out of a windowless kitchen
tall glass pina colada bottles with little umbrellas inserted in
down by the ocean the burgundy traces of a latent sun arrives
as we sip slowly, and eat quietly, atop the hotel peer
Its as if it happened yesterday but I can still smell the French fries
wrapped in plaid red and white paper drenched in crisping oils
Pungent odors of chlorinated water from the pool now all gone
replaced by freshly shampooed hair, and lingering sun tan lotion
Wearing a linen white dress and my recently purchased mala beads
I feel more Zen in my pinky today then I felt in a lifetime my friend
far away by that ocean it was the perfect vacation without any fear
when I stop to think of it I hope to return there some time next year.
Woke up this morning, it's one of those days.
I see the bright sunshine through a grey, misty haze.
My head hurts, my eyes burn, I hurt in some places,
That used to be located in different places.
Hobble to bathroom to soak in the tub,
And take ibuprophen in lieu of back rub.
Shampooed and relaxed I feel a bit peckish.
Some scones and some tea would make a nice breakfast.
No flour, no butter, my cupboard is bare.
I tell you this morning has started with flare.
I just grab a bite on the way to work.
Paid for donuts and coffee, spilled the cup on my shirt.
Got to work late so I stayed overtime.
Didn't get home until just before nine.
'Cause I had a flat tire and had no spare,
So I called a tow truck and had it repaired.
My neighbor came over with all of the news.
Sometimes that woman just gives me the blues.
She'll talk about anyone who isn't here.
Wonder who she talks about when I'm not there.
I finally flipped out and just had a cow.
It's good that I did 'cause I feel better now.
Tomorrow will be a much better day.
Today was a bad day, what more can I say.
I'm on vacation,
And having so much fun.
I've been organizing and cleaning,
And working off my buns.
Made curtains for my kitchen,
Made cake and cookies too.
Did the laundry, mowed the lawn,
Made supper for the crew.
Then I did the basement,
From one end to the other.
Shampooed the carpets, did the drapes,
Now there's just the cupboards.
I'm on vacation, let's partay!
This week has been the best.
Next it's back to work for me,
At last now I can rest.
Sweep me off my feet
no soft shoe or rock fantasy
just bare stockings and toes
gliding slow and steady
delicate steppings along the floor;
rest your head upon my shoulder
grab onto the dream once more.
Eyes closed, breath soft and gentle
the scent of lavender in the air
the smell of shampooed hair
aftershave at the nape of your neck
with tender kisses asking for more;
no need to say anything
just slow dance me.
other worlds are perfect
other houses are clean
mostly people are liars
we live like we mean
other floors are shining
other carpets are shampooed
mostly people are frontin'
we live like the best we can do
other sidings are pressure washed
other fences are mended
mostly people are selling wolf tickets
we live like the way our styles are blended
other doors are ajar
other welcome mats are muddy
mostly people are mannequins looking for acceptance in a wax museum
we live Divinely Healed By God....perfectly healing the wounds once bloody
My hair is picky
I need a shampoo
I tried every brand
Yet nothing will do
So I hit up the net
To find a solution
Cooked up a storm
And created pollution.
I added subtracted
And multiplied twice.
Came up with something
I couldn't cut with a knife.
So I twisted and churned
And added a scoop.
Created something
That resembled a soup.
I gave it a nod
Because I thought it was right
Shampooed my hair
And turned it all white.
I added some color
Some fragrance and shine
Thought for sure
It would work this time.
I woke up this morning
My hair was all gone.
Something for sure
Went terribly wrong.
But no need to worry
I'm working on wax.
Hopefully my hair
Will never grow back.
Hands folded on the bed
Tonight's prayers have been said
Scrubbed face, shampooed hair
Each night you'll find me there.
If you should come by day
The easy chair is where I stay
I have trouble on my feet
So please come in, have a seat
Music plays, anything but rap
My last project in my lap
Needlepoint Bible covers
They will be my father's & mother's
If.you.ask where lives my heart
My last.flame did depart
I'm not ready to try again
Please sit down, be my friend.
Right now my home is The Soup!
Mar. 14,, 2016
If I Am Not A Born Poet
If i am not a born poet
Then who really are
As I see table spoons
To seal rice and curry
From the far away moon
While i can’t from a dish
That kept ready on table
Full of boneless salmon fish
I see also the forks
As naughty as spoons
To cut spaghetti in air
To make it fall again
Upon my shampooed hair
If i am not a born poet
Then who really are
As i take my pet lizard
To the field to eat grass
While bring lions home
Thinking them stupid ass.
However what i do
And what i write
That does not matter
I am a born poet
For the reason wonder
That my mind holds great.
"Cuts and Curls," opened today.
And needing a new look, I went in right away.
"A cut and curl and perm if you please,"
I told the young man as I sat back in ease.
He shampooed my hair as I dozed in my chair.
Then dreaming of a famous mirror on the wall,
I wondered if I'd be the fairest of them all?
Prince Charming was there, and he gave me a kiss.
But he went too far and started licking my lips!
I opened my eyes, and staring up at me,
was a pampered and powdered, pink pedigree.
Then I reached for a mirror to look at my hair,
but a curly headed pink poodle was all I saw there!
A flush of red color covered my face.
Oh, why wasn't I told this was a pet grooming place!
Austerity?
Expensive cars chocking the approaches
to Vilamoura, the yacht and seaside town.
No austerity today, a man in an old Fiat
was laughed off the road, probably a waiter
on the way to work. No poverty no beggars
only shampooed dogs with golden collars.
And as always the poor, the silent majority,
stayed in their howls, sun is exclusively for
the perma- tan set in August.
I'm so bored with all this hair.
Would go bald if husband didn't care.
As a tomboy I played alot of sports.
Thats why mama kept it short.
Papa said a woman's hair is her crown of glory.
But mom said thats just one of his old stories.
When I shampooed I couldn't get it out.
But when combed I'd scream and shout.
Now that I older it's getting thin on top.
Mabee it's time to find a wig shop.
Teresa Skyles
obviously
cosmopolitan,
our new neighbors
sparkle
in their fashion,
frills, tones and bones,
and their
shampooed dogs,
vain about their pedigree,
deface our
freshly-painted walls,
foul our fragrant walkways,
loiter
around , litter our alleys,
with cosmopolite impunity.
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