a September sun-soaker
strolling across parking lot
in baby blue slip-on Skechers
so comfy, floating on afternoon
wearing Bills T-shirt, G-O B-I-L-L-S
still I’m not glued to the game
I’ll watch the recaps; must prioritize
reading, writing, studying, grooving
water my lantanas, hubby did
since we’re not seeing rain
perhaps the weather holds back
its tidings for a sudden snowfall
a nice lacy glisten, inches high
seeds planted in suspense, sea
of white waves and arctic air
dare we dream for fancy flakes
pumpkin patch, batting eyes
a little early, they morse code
orange is best and mellifluent leaves
kick that idea around and S-C-O-R-E
to be of use
without abuse
there’s no excuse
a bit obtuse?
well-cooked my goose?
slide on the noose?
that I refuse!
slip on my shoes
spread the news
do not confuse
it’s not a ruse
but what I choose
I’ve paid my dues
How many women here
have been impregnated
by Elon Musk? looking for hands
He plans to repopulate the planet
single handedly - well, not handed
exactly - you know what I mean.
In Australia, great swaths of Texas,
and of course Mar-a-Lago, he’s a serial offender,
because his sperm is legal tender.
Factoid: you might catch a disease,
he’s sleeping with everyone north of Belize
and several of them, frankly, look sleazy.
Of course, you’d have to listen to him talk. shivers
Unless you say, “Hey, can we do this without conversation?”
That’s when you’d slip on your sleep mask, and, well, you know.
But what would you be thinking about?
.
.
FUN! by KiNG MALA [E]
BLOODONTHETIMBS by Bren Joy [E]
The boat sways under a reddening sunset.
Is it wrong to wish for a Viking funeral,
to ponder a last journey West
into the dying light?
Strangers have always been my companions,
they intuit
the liquid, and inflammable nature
of this thing we do
- this poetry that is the life of us.
I could rest here in a free-floating skiff
adrift on a long warm wave of evening,
let the wooded lands and sloping meadows,
the smoke-stacked barge brimming harbors.
the patched up, river towns,
let them all slip on by
under the furled sails of evening clouds.
Just drift myself into the dusky flames,
as kindling for a starry night,
until the flowing waters enter a darkening fall,
or should I hitch this small craft
to an uncertain tomorrow,
maybe land upon another stump of reality,
one where imagination
can still idly play with fire?
Not Henpecked
Not shy, this bird.
Beak’s absurdist
beat, stirred my spouse.
Early Appointment
slip on long pants
coolness paints cheeks
car points the way
Silhouettes at Dawn
Sky is pale blue
as pines shoo dark;
their hue - sable-green.
My Nose is Cold
Not cold enough
without puff gasp.
The bluff is called.
Sovereign or martyr thus gravitas none dolorous,
dirge has keyed the grave motif to your succubus,
organs glistening as the innards burst vile viscera,
to bite on carbon release hammers sledge Invictus.
Not impressive but knot is a slip on your own noose,
gathering to watch a struggle as the buckets kicked,
amusing when the rope snaps and the monster runs,
turns executioner hacks away your scurvy populace.
Digress thus invitation to a horrid melancholy siege,
maelstrom of pianist crescendo a litany reverie,
masquerade these fair maidens as whomever,
still a mask and the rest of your face is plain to see.
Dreams are made not to be accompanied by meanderings of creatures of the lesser deities for the reaper is the end to everything this your prayers will not save you from the scythe’s guillotine.
Enjoy your expendability,
know that I do,
with that I take my leave,
soaking to bathe and wash off your crimson grief.
They said she was too hot to handle
Wore a slip on her date with Randall
When she came in at two
Is when the gossip flew
And became the neighborhood scandal
Wet Area rugs
Yellow, it’s pee
soggy socks,
Don’t slip on the tile
You don't always hear me complain.
I love the warm sun, the summer rain:
The springtime flowers and the autumn leaves;
But when winter arrives, unfortunately I start to freeze.
I like it when the temperature is 40 degrees,
And not when the snow is halfway to my knees.
Now I don't mean to sound snooty.
When I slip on the ice and fall on my booty,
And the cold North winds hit my face and nose,
There's nothing I can do, I suppose.
The fact remains that I don't want to be frozen.
Now I leave you with my favorite slogan:
Some folks like to frolic in the snow for kicks,
But brothas, like me, and cold weather just don't mix.
I don’t remember the shower
unless the glass shatters
into smithereens
I slip on the soap
of sudsy shards
Life is hard
the walls press in
white and smooth
as if a crowd’s haranguing me
Life is hard
with choices of a cloth
or bar to rub over the rough spots
I cry
when the water’s too hot
Life is hard
when the faucet’s turned off
and the dirt is baked on
and my feet stick to one spot
over the drain
Life is hard
Life is easy too
when cool water runs
over my shoulders
cascading
calming
Life is uplifting too
when the tears abate
instead lather my hair
with suds of laughter
Life is a clear day
I can see eternity
I can see my way out
The misty doors open
Feet are daisy fresh
Life is hard
Life is easy too
Meeting after all this time
Is such a wonderful surprise.
Meeting after so many years
Chased tears into my eyes.
Although you have cut your hair
And lost a pound or two,
I recognised you instantly
After calling from the blue.
Your youthful looks still intact,
Your sense of fun is true.
We laughed, not putting on an act,
And shared a drink or two.
Remember when we were twenty-one,
Big student loyalty.
Unseparable, we made our home
Together, you and me.
Until the final moment came,
Our courses at an end.
Then losing touch, a hideous shame,
Letters I could not send.
I realised this sudden loss,
Our friendship had been betrayed
By each of us, now in the world,
Hefty decisions made.
Now with employment and work to do,
Partners don't seem to stay.
A move to Bath, then on to Crewe,
Failed marriage on the way.
Life to be lived by one and all,
Settled now, I smile
When answering your unexpected call
And chatting for a while.
Time seems to just slip on by,
You proved to be my friend.
Indeed, we didn't have to try
When meeting last weekend.
We reach
The beach
Nice spot
Sand's hot
Flies swarm
Water's warm
Surfers crave
Big wave
We wish
no jellyfish
We learn
sun burn
hot sun
have fun
slip on
a shirt
slap on
a hat
slop on
sun screen
Dogs invite
shark bite
mum nags
swim between flags
HOLIDAY FUN
Halloween evening
Fright night
Seasons Greetings
Merry……… had a little lamb
New Years Eve
Kiss Bliss
Fourth July
Sparks Fly
Requiem for Henry and Sylvia
The papers arrived today. I gaze out the window of our posh villa and witness yet another spectacular Tuscan sunset. To my delight, a red-billed leiothrix is flitting about the umbrella tree, as if searching for its lost mate. I rise, slip on my Bottega Venetas and pour myself another cup of Danesi Italian coffee.
Memories flood my brain without my consent. There were happy times spent at the beach, endlessly searching for the prettiest or most unique seashells. Were they really good times? Maybe. It's all a blur now.
The large envelope lay on the expertly crafted Bocote table her artisan father made for us as a wedding gift. Rusty, our faithful corgi, rests at my feet. But he's not asleep. He's glaring at me with eyes of disdain, as if it was my fault she left.
I ask Alexa to play Handel's Messiah, then slowly open the drawer to finish the task at hand. There is just one problem. Where did I put that damn Montblanc Royal pen?
musing on what was
under a Tuscan sunset
coffee tastes bitter
our eyes meet
we feel bliss heat
pure joy
why then coy
dear twin soul
love is our goal
shed your fear
do come near
hold my hand
slip on it a band
we both will wear
to show we care
let it be in gold
that till we grow old
we feel
the zing and zeal
of bliss heat
when our eyes meet
When someone stumbles and falls on their ass;
we find their predicament humorous.
And even though it is considered crass,
the people caught laughing are numerous.
When playing tug of war, inches to go,
uncontrolled nervous laughs may start to show,
and should the rope break, that laughter will grow.
Heaven forbid someone should slip on ice,
we'll break out laughing, although it isn't nice;
yet, the butt of a joke exacts a price.
Why do we laugh when someone passes gas;
or a skier fractures their humerus?
If there's a why, I don't profess to know;
that it's impulsive will have to suffice.
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