Wet with sweat, the seaside called my name
Coastal waters taught me to proclaim
Gentle breeze on water
Sweating, getting hotter
Bikini came off, despite the shame!
I went on a journey across the land,
until I got to the beach with it's golden sand.
I was not here for sandcastles and a splash
I've come to collect some more sea-glass.
Some of it is pretty and colourful, but I prefer the black
I want to get as much as possible before I head back.
Black Sea-glass is pirate treasure from what I've been told,
It's etched with silent stories of pirates hunting for their gold.
I can imagine the glass I find as a mug of Pirate rum,
darkened to help prevent it spoiled from exposure to the sun.
"Shiver me timbers" they'd shout, and X marks the spot,
I hope before I go home I've collected an awful lot.
When I get home I'll glue any to my model sea-glass pirate boat,
then when it's complete I'm gonna see if it'll stay afloat.
I've got my fingers crossed that the launch will be no shocker,
and my sea-glass pirate ship ends up like Davy Jones' locker.
I’m a trilobite, I took my leave
Nature had a shocker up its sleeve
In hot water
Air gets shorter
Things got heated and I couldn’t breathe
I’m a stegosaur and I’m long dead
I got a chill in my poor old head
My world cooled down
The leaves turned brown
I breathed my last in a cold cold bed
I’m a mammoth and I used to swarm
I lived in hope of a winter storm
The snow that lay
Melted away
I lost my life when it got too warm
I’m a human and I’ve had my fill
Of blame and shame for every ill
But humans, I’m sure
Killed no stegosaur
Our climate changes and always will
He felt so cocksure
his Midas Touch was proctor.
Vegas pulled him down.
Now his Midas touch is brown.
His failure was a shocker.
NB: Inspired by, but not entered in, Edward Ibeh’s This of That, Vol 15 Contest
Old and bent when she sat in her gooseneck rocker
Waiting for the angelic shout to call her home
Grandma was best described as very prim and proper.
When we learned she was gone it was a shocker
I recall her braiding her hair with a fine-tooth comb
Old and bent when she sat in her gooseneck rocker.
In her later years, Grandma wasn’t much of a talker
When she spoke, her words dripped like a honeycomb
Grandma was best described as very prim and proper.
When she occasionally moved about with her walker
She glided through the room like a little old gnome
Old and bent when she sat in her gooseneck rocker.
She would peer out a window but wasn’t a gawker
When visitors left, she would smile and say “Shalom,”
Grandma was best described as very prim and proper.
As she grew older, she shrunk up, becoming smaller,
Looking back, I now remember her in monochrome
Old and bent when she sat in her gooseneck rocker,
Grandma was best described as very prim and proper.
Written November 4, 2022
Often, I must say to myself, “Compose yourself,”
So, I take a book of lovely poems from the shelf
When I see chaos and fear surrounding me,
And slowly absorbing them, set aside my insecurity.
I sit in my old-fashioned goose-necked rocker
For some folks, I suppose, it will come as a shocker
That I let my thoughts drift to more soothing places,
But my fantasy world is full of happy, loving graces.
In my fantasy world I can dream at my own pace
Sometimes, I fly into farthest realms of space
There, my mind can find such comfort and repose,
Where I am unreachable, untouchable, I suppose.
It will make me so happy if you’ll join me, friend,
In that special place with no beginning, no end,
Learning to find that place of sweet composure,
In which we’ll never ever face abrupt foreclosure.
[extended syllables version]
written January 20, 2022
Often, I say, "Compose yourself,"
Take a book of verse from the shelf
Seeing chaos surrounding me,
I lay down insecurity.
Sitting in my goose-necked rocker
I suppose, it comes a shocker,
My thoughts drift to soothing places
Full of happy, saving graces.
Here, I can dream at my own pace
Drift into realms of inner space
I find deep comfort and repose,
I'm untouchable, I suppose.
I'll be happy if you'll come, friend,
This place of beginning, no end,
Find a place of sweet composure,
Never face a sad foreclosure.
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Written January 20, 2022
Especially for “C Form – Couplet” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Syllables checked with HMS
Playing tired
Went to rest today
Maradona
Son of Arge n tina
Married to soccer
Father of goals
Children kicks
Relation of claps
Maradona a shocker in soccer
The Thanksgiving feast was a shocker
When the turkey danced, doing the flocker
As the family looks on
Pour glasses of patron
Then assume the turkey was a punk-rocker
Myriads of murmuring marine maidens
Musically musing, making mariners mad;
Floating or frolicking freely and feeding
Feverish fishermen’s fleshly fantasies.
Sensually swimming silvery seductresses
Stripping slobbering sailors of their senses.
Inveigling and inspiring them to inundate the waters
In instant insanity in pursuit of Neptune’s daughters.
To some this may come as a shocker:
Mermaids lured them into Davy Jones’ locker.
Can I have that?
No.
Why?
Because it’s mine.
Can I have this?
No.
Why?
Because it is mine. I paid for it.
Can I have this?
I recognize this weird pattern. I have seen it before.
Usually in children who feel like they do not have anything.
This child is eleven.
Old enough to know this behavior is rude.
“It is rude to ask someone to give you their things,” I tell her.
“Can I have this?” she says.
I stare at her. She turns, sees my face and laughs.
I have no glare face. Stare face is all I have.
She obviously has missed some valuable character lessons.
I watch her try to slip my ten dollar spinning owl into her pocket.
She turns, sees me looking and grins.
“I was just kidding,” she said.
She puts it back, giving it an extra pat.
The owl, which is solar powered and spins from the sun
Is gone the next day. Shocker.
A mermaid sure caused a commotion
by skinny dipping in the ocean
her body is bare
which makes seamen stare
and dreaming to rub in sun lotion
An angler nets her; it’s a shocker
she struggles, he grabs her left knocker
This makes her irate
and it seals his fate -
he’s consigned to Davy Jones locker!
Both limericks 9,9,5,5,9 - checked with how many syllables
Two Sea Themed Limericks Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
7/29/19
Democratic Senator Kirsten Gillibrand
Surely the most pious, learned Christian in all the land
Came out today with a most scholarly shocker
For which I find it hard to do aught but mock her
She told several fawning reporters** that restricting abortion
Is against the Christian faith, at least its most important portion
She explained that Christians are given free will, and then this:
That a democracy separating church and state is sadly remiss
If it intends to impose anti-abortion 'faith' against its citizens' wills
Thus labeling pro-lifers a denominational religion, as do political shills
So, whatever your stance on abortion may be, from pro-it to the death penalty
Perhaps on this we can all agree: Ms. Gillibrand's logic is pure quackery.
**CBS and Reuters
I am giving a kids poem a shot I have never done one before
I run through your house
I am Just a little mouse
Looking for cheddar cheese
I cannot not find it anywhere
But I do see a mouse trap over there
Let me go see what kind of cheese
Swiss cheese that stinks to me
I will just eat this electric cord
This maybe a shocker for me
For electricity will hurt you
So never be a fool like me
Stay away from electricity
A pink whistle, a shrill siren, a spilled bottle of ink,
Vibrant India, the blue stuff, silver spilled in the sink,
I never know what kinds of amazing things will come through.
What will my assertive muse in charge of me make me do?
Will it be faeries today? Or cinnamon rolls? A garden missive?
A bumble bee rose clocker-shocker, will it be something priss-ive?
I have to sit at my keyboard, and punch some keys, trying not to shout.
My take-charge muse is the only one of us who knows what is going to come out.
Are we silly? Mad? Mean? What is the Caren-Trixie mood of the day?
Do we need glitter and glue? Are we going to dance? Are we going to play?
Will it be poetry, or a drawing, will I paint a mural or perhaps a cartoon?
Will we be traveling to Egypt or Zimbabwe or to the Baboon’s famed moon?
I am lying here, wondering, in my teeny tiny not-so-smart-yet head.
I guess the first step might be to roll out of bed.
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