Rumors swirl about the return of Ole Man Jack's bitter breath
that only he can breathe...
Lonely shelves and coolers line empty aisles that echo
Searches for eggs, bread, and milk are fruitless
Dark, grey skies hang as snow softly cries
Now the hunt for extra oak and hickory__
Candles are gathered while tidying comforters and blankets, too
Spring and her bright, joyful blooms are sleeping
But today, Ole Man Jack is awake with his heavy, bitter breath
Her clothes have left her.
They have crossed the floor,
riding a camel train of shadows.
Tights have twisted to fleshy mounds.
A bra gawps twice, spine bent.
Shoes topple over drunken heels.
A little black dress climbs a chair.
A vision of him closing the door -
harsh parting words.
She roams the apartment,
picks up her strays, gathering together,
whatever yesterday wore,
tidying him forever
out of her life.
I moved the shelves to clean behind,
Tidying my thoughts –
A sliver of lizard slithered out.
As I stepped aside
The lizard slipped in the gap again,
Its copper body
Vanishing.
I used to scoff at the thought
of Greek nymphs inspiring artists,
but those nine gals, especially
Calliope and Erato blees em,
have moved right in.
They’re a great help
around the house.
I have put them to work
cleaning, tidying, and doing the dishes.
I.C.E. raided my house the other day
wanting to know if I employed illegal aliens.
The girls, forewarned,
hid themselves in a closet.
Small problem,
while I sleep they fill my head
with fanciful gibberish,
lame stuff
which, the next day,
I then have to dump somewhere
and the city flatly refuses
to take them away with the trash.
Bleak February,
masquerading as the month of love,
though no redeeming qualities are born in you.
No purple berry
nor fuchsia flower blooming brightly,
just sighing earth between pale moons of snow.
The garden fairy
sleeps undisturbed in frozen blankets,
waiting for sweet robins to awaken her.
Heavy to carry,
this dreary pause in changing seasons,
colorless like a vintage family photo.
March, please be wary -
you will have so much tidying to do,
erasing death and decay to welcome spring
in Monticello
finished rice field works
we ate dinner with droopy bodies
Raised tired and aching body
I saw father to see the beehive
I went to follow to help to solve
and then
touched two
stepped one
In the eight hives that fell forward
When a swarm of bees attacked
shouted, "the hive had fallen"
limping one aching leg
He came running
towards to hives
Bees started stinging in the face
I ran away down the hill
After a few hits,
I quietly head towards the beehive
let's get closer to that place
My father was tidying up the beehive
Come down and wash clothes
bees poured out of the clothes
come into the room
The wife pulles out the stingers
got stuck in her father-in-law.
worrying
watching this scene from the beginning
my son Abraham whispered
"even though
grandfather in such a dangerous situation
Running away... you're a unfilial child."
and Grandmom said, stroking Grandson's head
"Abraham, I didn't even come close."
The whole family laughed
As if breaking the whole town
except for me.
his date on her way
speed-tidying apartment ~
a royal pigsty
Date written:12/30/2021
I love planting. I love digging holes, putting plants in,
tapping them in. And I love weeding, but I don't like
tidying up the garden afterwards. Jamaica Kincaid
***
shovel
near blue hydrangea bush -
latter rain
6/26/2020
A PRIME OPPORTUNITY
Now,
Now, more than ever before,
Now, is the time,
For it is you know
A prime opportunity,
To grasp what is before
An ideal moment etched in time.
To contemplate
Downtime with the kids,
Try making castles of mud in the yard of one,
Lessons counting one, two, three in backward thrice,
Dragon slaying in crayons colours of yellows, reds, blacks, and greens,
Reading the word from Genesis one to four,
Praying for thanks and what you have to be thankful for,
Tidying rooms and picking up toys,
Washing, washing hands to “Happy Birthday me,”
Pizza creating from scratch in making dough,
Phone calling to Grandma Mac to see if she’s O.K.,
Pulling weeds for compost making,
Walking dog in tandem round perimeter fence,
Now,
Now, more than ever before,
Now, is the moment to seize the time,
And for it is you know
A prime opportunity.
Francis Cooper – Mac © 03-Apr-20
I know everyone is struggling right now and we're all just trying to make it through
I've always been antisocial but lockdown has made me realise I enjoyed going to a place or two
Missing my friends , wishing I could go to the house of a mate or two
I'm tired of looking at the same 4 walls when there's nothing great to do
I've always been a home body but I do miss having the freedom to go out
Going through my stuff and tidying up what I need to throw out
Feeling low I'm tired of all of my thoughts
I miss my friends but not as much as I miss sports
Scientists are trying to find a vaccine and a cure
I'm trying to figure out if I'm eating because I'm hungry or because I'm bored
It gets light and it gets dark but it feels like time doesn't exist
With no routine, I'm always unsure of what day it is
No point in making any plans as they tell us home is where we need to stay
Teenage me would hate me for saying this, but lockdown has shown me there's only so much xbox you can play
This is one of the worst times in history so we're all just trying to make the best of now
But this lockdown has me feeling like Akon when he sang "I'm locked up they won't let me out"
Is it over, is it really now over,
Are we just dreaming or simply misled,
Can we resume the rest of our lives
Outside these four walls and the shade of our bed.
Can we now fill our lungs with fresh air
Breathing no longer through layers of cloth,
Or must we endure that little while longer
Protected indoors, cocooned like a moth.
Exhausted from watching show after show,
Tidying closets, climbing the walls,
Snacking in boredom, growing in girth,
Constantly texting, washing our smalls.
Hair growing longer, nails more like claws,
Roots ever greyer, solutions too few,
Pampered and spoiled, lost in a haze
Reliant on others, but whoever knew.
So tell us it's over, we pray and beseech,
Bring back the life we knew and adore,
Life's little pleasures all gone in a flash,
Staying cooped up is now such a chore.
It is very old English word, rarely used.
Seeing her approaching, one gets confused
to rush around cleaning floor
before she knocks on the door;
For hasty tidying act - Scurryfunge used.
~X~X~X~
In my special child’s room, delightfully cozy
There watches Smidgeburner, his ape stuffed toy, cuddly fuzzy
Alongside prettisome guru, chimpanzee Betzy
Donning a hat declaring “God does not bless the lazy!”
Then Smidgeburner, a.k.a Smidge becomes busy
Tidying the bed-zoo against being messy
Guru Betzy supervises, never bossy
Smiling, she commends, “Wow; room’s not lousy!”
While cleaning, Smidge feels tired and dizzy
Turning jovial mood into a sickening frenzy...
Betzy counsels, “Working well never makes one crazy”
So she hums a tune that invites good air, soothingly breezy.
As Smidgeburner rests in their secured haven, warmly grassy
Betzy, the loving lovely guardian, is not anymore uneasy.
Concluding the monkey-tale, I hug my boy who’s now drowsy
Thanking God* for pacifying his spasm epilepsy.
*2Chronicles 5:13 …praising and thanking the LORD; …For he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever.
March 13, 2019
1st place, "The Smidget Puggily and Her Prettisome Guru" Poetry Contest Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 3/27/2019.
Poem Received Much Praise
To you a gorgeous glass will raise,
All full of dignity, honor and praise,
Will always want and then desire,
Now my poems put world on fire.
More of my poems read and read,
Even though may be restless breed;
Continue to read through until end;
To Facebook and Poetry Soup do send.
Poets read my poem and did realize,
Appeared to have won Pulitzer prize;
Have heard it even performed so well,
Was presented with another by Nobel.
Still needs some tidying up I am sure.
Have at it.
Everyone seems to want to enter a
contest with their poem to see if it
is the best having been a poetry pest.
Jim Horn
IF ever I had a country : XXIII-XXIV
XXIII
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Home Secretary
I wouldn't sit on my baked beans doing my level-best to avoid responsibility
While waiting to pat myself on the back on Bastille Day down the Champs Elysée
I'd keep both public and pubic forces from running rampage on every refugee
But set about tidying the House with bleach to rid oath-taking secret skullduggery
That is, if ever I were but the Home Secretary
And even if I never ever had no country
XXIV
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Interior Secretary
I'd neither arrogate nor take for granted Hobbes's Leviathan-authorised cruelty
I'd seek and demolish local townships' self-appointed chief mafiosi
Who undermine hotel-maids with virile World Bank authority
Who add to the You-Too Hall of Fame Hollywood-producer community
That is, if ever I were but the Interior Sec in Gay Paree
And even if I never ever had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 10, 2018
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