Short Sheepskin Poems

My secretary-lady just a bought,
Women's Brown Sheepskin Coat.
But what the point a skin to strip,
From one, to put it on to other sheep?...

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You don’t need a log on a fire.
You don’t need a soft sheepskin rug;
Just a comfortable place
That you’ve made your own space
And, if lucky, a smile or a hug.

Forget all those candles and dimmers
Or potpourri wafting above;
When you’re home in your nest
What most people like best
Is to know you’re surrounded by love....

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Fat balls
white stitches curve a fast sun
      SLAM      arcs to anxious
brown leather skins.

                         Batter up!
     
Sheepskin rolls
come to age in camera points
      POP      flashes to jubilant
boyish grins.    Next up!

Fat rolls
duffles pitch in pointed darkness
      BANG       target anxious
leather skins.

                       Soldier up!...

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Ivy-covered sheepskin, firmly in hand
    the confident graduate, square-jawed and tan

  Pulled offers from prestigious start-ups all over the land
    a year later he played lead guitar, hat in hand

  He, ever-grateful to his folks for those music lessons
    They, bleary-eyed from all the therapy sessions

  Yet Patience will out, and Time always tells
    Perhaps by thirty-five he'll own an oil well...

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December's here, the wind blows North,
It chills my bones, I need some warmth,
I need the fire, the coal's stacked high, 
My cosy slippers, and apple pie.

I crave that heat, my cosy home,
Not the frozen pond, nor frosted gnome,
My feather quilt, my comfy bed,
Tomato soup and crusty bread.

Three pairs of socks, a woolly hat,
Sheepskin mitts, that's where it's at!
The kitchens warm, the fire glows,
I sit by it and warm my toes....

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She was warm to the touch
Cold to the bone
A sheepskin clutch
With a heart of stone
Her gentle webbed hands pulling, she drowns him
And he’s seeking solace as she comes up for air
A Benedict Arnold over easy, she confounds him
He comes with a start and she with a stare
Deciphering what truth, if any human remains
She’ll speak dolphin, he’ll just wail
White squid ink on her nightie stains
Her love scribbled on a platypus bill of sale...

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Wide eyes beguiled by pursed lips and strings
Temptation crouches low as a tiger
Hunting coy glances and diamond rings
Tiger now an ox who plots beside her

Promises of riches, fame, and love
Sing like a fairy, little gold canary
The wolf now disguised as a sheepskin glove
Once gentle, he acts to the contrary

And they'll dance as snakes in courtship
smother and crush their ribs and wants
Blame the rat for sinking their warship
Spell out expectations in different fonts...

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