French bulldog Betty
I patrol the borders of my property I take my job seriously as head of security
If you see me watching you and think I look like fun just cross my border then you better run
The postman tried it once he should have known better crying out as he ran I have to post a letter
Then there was a man I think his name was mike I chased him away so fast he left behind his bike
Then the police came that was such a laugh
He dropped his radio as I chased him up the path
The garden came one day not knowing I was about left behind his gardening tool as I chased him out
Now my humans have had to keep a log of the injuries caused by me Betty the French bulldog
whooshing winds use trees to shout messages
leaves flutter down like dying moths landing at my feet
sparkle of day feels like a tornado warning
I sit under my tallest oak
expecting her limbs to crack and hit me in the head
on my tombstone you have my permission to engrave
Risk taker from Kansas who should have known better
Ceiling spider.
Would you please not bite her?
While she’s trying to write thoughtfully.
Staring out at a tree.
She wants to cry.
The spider doesn’t want to pry.
So he simply works on a web.
But becomes tangled instead.
The spider decides to step on her letter.
He should have known better.
She lets out a shout.
Until he told her not to pout.
He tells her how to write condolences.
In a way that is kind and makes sense.
In fact, he knows a lot.
After his mother died in her cot.
She says thank you.
She’s a little nervous of this spider, that is true.
A spider with trauma, just like her.
She nods, and feels reassured.
Suddenly, there is a tiny sound.
A fly has been found.
The spider says a prayer.
As the fly does despair.
The ceiling spider doesn’t want to eat this fly.
As this fly says goodbye.
The spider sinks his fangs.
Into the fly’s veins.
Ceiling spider.
Who would never bite her.
A woman writing a heartfelt letter.
He knows better.
He crawls back into a crack.
Above the clothing rack.
To eat the remains of his mom, before she decays.
It’s about survival in these dark days.
“ VOODOO SALAD “
BLACK CATS IN THE WINDOW BULLET HOLES PAINT THE DOOR
SIGN SAYS FORTUNE TELLER I WOULDN’T FEEL LUCKY IN THAT STORE
THIS TOWN IS REALLY CREEPY I DON’T TRUST ANYTHING I SEE
THE SLIPPERY WET SIDEWALK IS NOW STARING BACK AT ME
WHATEVER WAS IN THE DRINK SHE MADE HAS ME SEEING DOUBLE
MY LEGS ARE WEAK AND WOBBLY I KNOW I’M IN FOR TROUBLE
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER CAUSE I’VE READ ALL ABOUT IT
NOW I THINK I’M TASTING THAT STRANGE VOODOO SALAD
THERE’S A SHADOW FOLLOWING ME BUT IT DON’T LOOK LIKE MINE
IT’S GETTING REALLY CLOSE AM I’M RUNNING OUT OF TIME
I’M SHAKING IN MY BOOTS BUT WHEN I TURN AROUND
LOOKING RIGHT BEHIND ME THERE IS NO ONE TO BE FOUND
THE SINKING SKY ABOVE IS SETTING AWFULY LOW
WHOLE TOWN IS CLOSING IN I GOT NOWHERE TO GO
THE DAYS ARE ALL SO BLEAK NIGHTS ARE EVEN WORSE
EVERY CAR I SEE LOOKS LIKE A FUNERAL HEARSE
I’VE HEARD ALL THE RUMORS NOW I KNOW JUST WHAT IT MEANS
THERE’S SOMETHING IN THAT VOODOO SALAD THEY CALL NEW ORLEANS
Looking back, I see a trail of regrets,
A path littered with mistakes I can't forget.
If only I could turn back the hands of time,
Would my life today be more sublime?
Oh, the bad decisions I've made along the way,
Leaving me wondering what could have been today.
I should have known better, I can't help but sigh,
But dwelling on the past won't help me fly.
With each misstep, a lesson learned,
A chance to grow, to evolve, to discern.
Though the weight of regret may feel heavy,
I'll use it as fuel to steady.
For I can't change the past, that's true,
But I can shape my present and future anew.
I'll learn from my mistakes, embrace the unknown,
And forge a path where seeds of wisdom are sown.
So I'll bid farewell to regrets and sorrow,
And greet each new day with hope for tomorrow.
For I am resilient, I am strong,
And from my mistakes, a better me will be born.
In seventh grade I should have known better
Than to sign up for dissecting in this kind of weather
It was stormy and dark, the sky was gloom and doom.
In the lab, I fished my frog out of his box-like tom.
I poked him with my knife to make a little slice.
His eyes popped open, which was not incredibly nice.
He stuck out his tongue and ran around the table.
Whose frog is that? Asked the teacher, named Mable.
The chase was on. He was quicker than light.
I grabbed him again and tried to hold on tight.
I ended up letting him go, that Halloween day.
Frog who refused to die on a day that was gray.
In a two-door
gold-colored 1973
Ford Maverick with
a black vinyl top,
49 Christmases ago,
In the winter of 1973,
from Chicago, we headed south.
My wife's brother was getting married
on Christmas day, and I was a member of
the wedding party. We were a bit fearless
and young. It was very cold, and we were very
bold. But we really should have known better.
Less than a hundred miles out, the wet and the
cold turned to ice, and the road became slippery.
As I attempted to weather the Icy Road, my stubbornness
quickly manifested itself, but not for long. The weather won.
Young and bold, but we were not foolish and ignorant.
We canceled our plans and spent Christmas with older
friends in the area. It was a different but safe Christmas.
Many Christmases ago, we learned to respect the weather.
My wife and I were gifted One Icy Christmas with a precious
memory, which now hangs on the tree of our hearts.
113022PS
The meadow has come alive with sight and sound
As I go through the gate, I hear buzzing all around,
The bees are busy working on milkweed flower
Waist-high daylilies and coral honeysuckles tower,
Enticing a few hummingbirds into the crowded field
I snap a piece of sassafras which is carefully peeled,
Soon I see three cottontails on the path up ahead
About the same time, a cardinal flashing by, all red,
I hear the call of a tanager and a mourning dove
Today, there is so much here in the meadow to love.
The narrow pathway is overgrowing with wild carrot
Originally blown over here from a nearby cattle lot
Breezes are stirring up the gnats and dragonflies,
And I keep wiping floating pollen out of my eyes.
As I expected the mother deer has weaned her fawn
I’m surprised to see her here so long after the dawn,
The afternoon sun beating down is now aggressive
I should have known better, it’s becoming oppressive.
I’ll head toward home, foregoing a walk to the river
A sunstroke is threatening; I have begun to shiver.
Written July 16, 2022
A gargoyle fell off the top of the building and landed on my toe.
I screamed like an injured bobcat, loud, long, hard, with a glow.
The neighbors all came out and stared, but this was the city.
They turned snickering, and ran off; the scene was not pretty.
One old guy came over and said “There will be a bill for that.”
He was pointing to the cement gargoyle who had ears like a cat.
You think I pushed this thing off the top letting it fall on my foot?
I was irritated now. Also it had left a trail of ugly black soot.
Your tennis shoe is ruined; you should have known better, he said.
I knew right then that the old guy was bonkers in his skinny ole’ head.
I shoved the gargoyle off my foot and told him to shove off.
Then I noticed his ugly smile and his strange little weird kitty cough.
“Hey”, I asked this Weirdy Cat. “Weren’t you married to my sister?”
“Could be,” he replied."I married many." He is a strange little mister.
Oh, yes, I thought, this was one of hers for sure. He is so odd.
I limped off, not looking back after pushing the gargoyle off my bod.
Did you shout out in shock that day as she suddenly stuck
her spiked heel into your spine kicking you to the curb
through the open car door before slamming her foot
on the gas and speeding away tires shrilly squealing
leaving you lying there by the roadside
red faced in disgrace
your heart shattered
your brain reeling
struggling to process what it was you were feeling
she having planned in advance which card she would play
to proclaim her innocence
You should have known better
She was just a young kid in a cashmere sweater
so to do the same for which she condemns men is ok
she would go on to say
I knew what she intended to do
though if I could have warned you
I doubt you'd have listened anyway
for who am I but a woman who knows very well
what her kind is capable of
That hawks such as she soar in circles above their prey
pretending to be a dove
You’re not back in the USSR
And you don’t have a ticket to ride.
There’s no magic in your mystery tour.
The Walrus isn’t on your side.
You took a long and winding road
Because we couldn’t work it out.
Yesterday you raged across the universe.
You should have known better, no doubt.
You’re a loser, and it won’t be long
Before they’ve shattered your glass onion dome.
Help for you is another four-letter word.
You’d better let it be and just go home.
Something in the way you goosestep
Is what enlightened nations can’t forgive.
Get back to where you once drank vodka,
And don’t even tell me all you need is Lviv.
I have my second graders coloring cutting and gluing.
It is taking them quite a bit of time. They are chatting too.
This is counseling class, I encourage socializing.
I arrived five minutes early and let the substitute teacher have a break.
He thanked me and hotfooted it out of there double time.
The regular teacher asked if I could switch days, so she would get this break.
It is not my fault she is not here at 3:30 on a Wednesday.
I could not accommodate her request. I have classes at 3:30 daily.
Every teacher tries to get a 3:30 spot, because we leave at 4:10.
A child notices that Mr. H is gone. He is seven foot and two inches tall.
He is built like a linebacker. They apparently all missed him leaving.
“Where is Mr. H?” I say “I hope the aliens did not get him.
Mistake!
They are now arguing with each other- whether or not aliens are real.
I should have known better.
From at least 8 trees, he could freely eat.
But unfortunately, that wasn't enough.
I should have known better than to
leave my pecans outside to dry.
Caught in the very act of eating my pecans, the
squirrel said, "Don't impede; I've got a family to feed".
080321PSCtest, Bite Size Poem No 16, Line Gauthier
HM
Was I crazy to think I was entitled to your heart?
Oh, excuse me. This is exactly what entitlement looks like. The audacity, to even write in these exclusive parts.
How dare I put down in ink, my emotions or feelings about you?
If they truly ask, would you tell them the truth?
How crazy it is to think I stole your heart?
This heart that has only one owner and is only shared when it desires to, "but I love you".
Was I crazy to think I was entitled to your heart?
For me, to loan you mines, then for you to rip it apart.
Oh, excuse me! I guess I'm to blame, knowing I should have known better, "these" same games.
How crazy it is to think I stole your heart? Apparently, it wasn't mines from the start.
Obviously, he could not include
internal organs all of those biological systems,
beside he was a little fuzzy
about what went where.
He had 3-D printed a chair,
testing his and the machines skills,
its four legs walked around for an hour
bumping into walls and stumbling over curled rugs
but then would walk no more.
It was relegated to another room
where it still sulked.
Next time he might try to make one
with eyes.
She would have to be hollow.
Brains would be tricky also,
best to have emptiness between her ears,
however he could copy eyes, nose, and mouth
and all other facial features.
He probably could work from memory
regarding her sexual parts.
When his wife came home and found a shell of a woman
lounging on the couch and giggling at his amusing quips
she asked him to 3-D print a gun and bullets for her
he did,
of course but should have known better
for later that night she shot them both with it.
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