Pretty mama Steampunk cat named Priss
Had litters of kittens that mew and hiss
They were turned away and put on bottles
She is not warm or fuzzy said tom cat Waddles
Tom cat Jim and Tom cat Dick and Jerry agreed
Pretty mama Steampunk cat was cold indeed
you cannot make a mama out of an unwilling cat
but her armor, wheels and gears were “all that”
baby ostrich queen of the land
stretches her wings like a rubber band
snaps back together and gives a squawk
we like to see this one wobble walk
baby ostrich queen with voice a squeak
to your life we would ask one tiny peek
she waddles away waving her feather tail
post office maybe? To get the mail?
Today her silks scatter crackling arabesques in the shimmering air
today she’ll dazzle the casual eye with her sweet metallic gleam
today she waddles, awkward as a cow
today she packs a punch like a fresh shot arrow
today she reverses polarity
today she groans in a furrow, slick with sweat
today she daintily steps through a violet mist
today she sloughs off gummy stuff
today her laughter is quicksilver
today she’s a clammy grey rubbery stone with bristles
today her waterfall hair sheds intoxicating unguents
today she dances without knowing it
today the beauty peels from her face to reveal a hatchet
----------------------------------------
It seemed to happen in a flash.
Our movements were rash.
Behind the breakfast bar
With scraps of potato hash.
Our webbed little feet
Stuck in a muddy mash.
Scores of us slip-slapping up the alley
Unabashed, with feathers
Mucked and thrashed
Finally on the road and--boom! Crash!
Linda was blindsided,
Some trucker with a stash.
There were eight of us now
Headed for a small pond in Wabash.
Just 200 waddles in the razor tall leaves
That thrash and slash.
Finally the four of us left see
Beyond the man-sized vines
The immaculate vision of the chicken party.
The most bodacious aquatic bash:
The one they call "The Chicken Splash."
In an alphabet book that my grandson once liked,
One page unfamiliar to me
Which, in turn, got my curiosity spiked,
Was the animal listed for P.
For a pangolin isn’t your average beast,
But an anteater covered in scales,
Looking quite prehistoric from head to, not least
Of its features, those long spiky nails.
It waddles in search of its main source of food,
For which it employs every sense,
Yet if threatened, it is very quickly subdued;
Curling up is its only defense.
I learned all about this today on TV,
But I’m glad that awareness was raised
In an alphabet book on which, ages ago,
Both my grandson and I once had gazed.
Beaver, mole or platypus? It waddles like all three.
I watch the creature scoot along, wild, weird and free.
If she pauses along the way to leave some tiny eggs down
I will call her Platte City Platypus, named for my uncle’s town.
A flash of shiny blue silk waddles into view of the bamboo stalks
a distinct crown and Egyptian painted eye; his beak is golden
Male peacock, shows his glorious feathers,
his symmetrical design gorgeously done
He courageously wanders onto a cliff of gray shale,
The moon is not any shinier than his magnificent feathers;
Other creatures are in awe, marveling at his unique costume
A feathery concoction that his wife does not dare wear,
Her muted browns help her keep their eggs in hiding.
Ring, ring, ringing a bell
And singing towards the sound of crystals.
Too cold for a moonlight shine;
Too hot for a feast’s flame;
However just right it is, how softly
It sits and waddles its paws,
Little sundrops flop over the delicate
Leaves of colourful imagination.
A comfortably scorched piece and
To be seen tomorrow, see you next time.
Little Bit waddles and limps downstairs at the sound of my voice. Barks at the hyperactive English Springer with all the fervor of Boris, the Russian Wolfhound, of Disney’s Lady and the Tramp fame.
the scruffy old stud
with four legs close to the ground -
wisdom’s on his side
If it walks like a goose and talks like a goose it might be a goose.
I was confused because my mother and her friends' talk is loose.
My brother waddles like one, when he is in their habitat, it is his way.
I stared at the wizened man but did not answer him at all that day.
Then two chubby geese waddled past and he asked “see what I mean?”
The funny thing is, that one of the geese was my brother Gene.
I kept my thoughts to myself and drank down my sweet cherry juice.
But if it walks like and talks like a goose, it is not always a goose.
I heard the wallpaper start peeling off the wall in the kitchen.
Garth my pet giraffe must be still be ferociously itch’n.
Penguin waddles up to give me his slanted report.
I ask about the chipmunks – Nancy, Herman and Mort.
They scurry up to show me the tattoos on their tails.
I say, “you can accompany me to dinner if all else fails.”
Not in that posh, stuck up fancy restaurant, Herman tells me.
I would rather be run over by a truck down by the sea.
Herman is pure drama, a stage actor in New York Training.
These pets are getting to be too much, I find them draining.
There is a sick llama who needs a home, Mort happily said.
I rolled my eyes, and laid back down, pretending to go to bed.
A drab forty something,
mother of six snotty noses,
tie dyed shirt two sizes too small.
Nipples poking through the thin cloth.
Fuzzy pink slippers and yoga pants,
ass like the surface of the moon,
with mountains and craters well defined.
Dirt blond hair with three-inch black roots.
Lights the joint stuck between caked lips,
blows smoke into the space,
separating her from reality.
Out of breath she waddles to the bed.
When he tells of the goddess,
that took his immaturity,
there’s one thing he never mentions.
The twenty he left on the table.
I left my hands behind miles ago.
My eyes drift 30 feet behind my body.
My heart waddles over hot gravel.
A Highway Dust Angel.
My brain took an Uber. My soul
Bought by a Buddhist back in Biloxi.
Long luscious legs
Better than eggs
Not too greasy
Legs over easy
Short thin or fat
What's better than that
Some prefer lean
Like legs of a Queen
Smooth or quite hairy
Those are quite scary
Strides glides or waddles
Legs of all models
Legs out of reach
Legs on a beach
Legs in the air
Legs everywhere
For two weeks, at all hours, I watched FIFA games
Familiarizing myself with all the players' names
But I won't be viewing the World Cup anymore
after the favored U. S. team was unable to score
Too much drama was promoted, so it would seem
over not singing the National Anthem, but I'd deem
their focus was on winning, as I think it should be
and not on patriotic agendas, "My country tis of thee."
A penguin (mascot) waddles so he can't play football
If he had tried, he'd have stumbled and taken a fall
Not once did I hear his name, Tazunis, mentioned
I don't think that slight of him was well intentioned
The U.S. team was defeated by Sweden in overtime
Their goalie, Zecira Musovic, played a game sublime
Time after time her heroic efforts prevented a score
No goals had been made, but the game was not a bore
U.S. women won the first tourney game by one goal
but wouldn't "Do it Again" and lost their favorite role
They didn't play, "Beyond Greatness," not even close
It was time they fly home and to Australia say, "Adios."
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