With two left feet
he's clod-hoppery
tho' her little white porkies
are quite whoppery
as he thinks aloud
she's merely frippery
meanwhile she knows
he's really foppery
but slinking around
slippery-sloppery
in sandals she found
flippery-floppery
she came a-croppery
a total eye-poppery
yet flummoxed
gob-stoppery
he refrained
from quippery-flippery
remained on toppery
and maintained
ever chippery
she’s never been right, tripping over everyone’s laces.
it’s like a laser field, where she bumps into every bruise.
she ducks and limps, with charlie brown, circling bases.
her braids tangled and barely reaching the rescuing prince.
to make matters worse, he plucks grays as he makes his ascent.
her head aches, with every step of the ladder, making him wince.
so shy, she hides under a contrasting red hood and cape.
why does she always invite the hairy ones to join her?
this one has wide eyes and snarly teeth — an audacious ape.
they go swimming and she bobs under the dangerous dock.
her fin fits way too tight, cutting off common sense circulation.
yet, with wisdom lacking, he sinks as she hands him a rock.
she blames herself, as another one cuts himself with slipper shard.
racing away, from what will be disastrous, she thumbs for a carriage.
her heart racing with every bump, knowing life will always be hard.
the moral of this acrobatic feat, encouraging dragons - fire and all,
if she’d only been born right, perhaps there’d be someone left,
but under this royal beauty’s curse, into normal life she’d never fall.
2/13/2018
A sprinkle
A dribble
Unravel something that was simple
Words like holograms
Giving you stunning visuals
Golden glowing sands
Exotic overflowing lands
Like a blind man
I read your poetry beauty with curious hands
Chopped up small bits of romance
She loves high class fragrances from France
Caught in whirlwind dance of a love trance
No other way to end this poem
But in a spinning b-boy stance
Peace
I don't want to dance Daddy
you'll step on my feet
I haven't any um-pa-pa
dancing's not my treat.
If I could stand on your shoes Dad
then we'd slide cross the floor
I'd know we'd do it, oh so right,
and Mother would adore.
I don't want to dance my Dear
you'll step on my feet.
we haven't any um-pa-pa
dancing's not my treat
Oh Daddy said our little girl child
can I stand on your shoes
I can not dance a lick you see
and Baby has the blues.
Fifty years have come and gone
stepping on my feet,
on starlit nights in our bedroom
your feet make mine complete.
I tried
bending words
with sincere hope
only to discover my right intentions
went left!
© All Rights Reserved
.......For Barbara's Contest
“I really can’t dance” I said
But you insisted on it anyway
As I sat with my arms folded
Sulking like a child.
“I won’t laugh, I promise” you coaxed
Your bare feet moving gracefully
On the hard oak floor.
Graceful as that damn dog you loved so much
With the long ears that never could run
straight.
I grumbled beneath that same breath
That moments later you’d take away,
Standing before you, watching
Your dark locks danced along with you
While I remained motionless.
My arms jerked forward
As your slender cello fingers encompassed my own
How i longed mine to be as musical as yours
But you never seemed to mind.
“Dance with me” you whispered
Inching yourself nearer
My heart skipping beats
my breath became lost
Becoming one with your own.
Then, it was easy to ignore
That we both had two left feet
As long as they moved
simultaneously
sad heart
fleeting and bleeding
this last beat is taking
its bitter sweet time
love song
singing and screaming
just when the beat starts sticking
you switch up the rhyme
loose lips
for kissing and telling
bet i can get 'em yelling
or at least make them sigh
cracked door
for waiting and watching
seems i have caught you lying
(under another guy)
On a fire-cracked Sunday
we started the laughter
peeling the rind off the sun dripping juice
Burning the grass with each
step that we took,
as we danced~
Never a keeper of soul,
Never one to put up a jive
with left feet like rocks
I break into smiles
You are no better
Hip shakes in giggles
Brimming the air
with the snapping of twigs
Sun soaked delirium
limeade on ice
swirling bright neon
in trite afterglows
We dance with green lips
in the sun, on a Sunday
and suddenly you
are the steps that I know.
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