Jokes in her wheelhouse
Enthusiasm oozing out of her pores
She entertains children and grandmothers
The laughter runs up and down the walls
Excitement because she will be back today
Restoring our faith in joy and love
our new remote arrived yesterday
the package weighed nineteen pounds
the instruction book was eleven hundred and sixty-two pages thick
my husband began clicking away with it
managing a tv remote is instinctive for him
there is nothing easy about a remote in my wheelhouse
he goes click, click, click, click, click
without opening the stupid book
I have to ask him to slow down his clicking
to tell me what he has pressed
I try to write it down
but I cannot write that fast
I shudder at the dropped ball of life
the layup that was in my wheelhouse
that I punted on
in favor of greener pastures
think big they say
all the while the little fish
are floating away
into another's net of fortune
sugar-coating the lost easy-score
no consolation
for my wounded sense of self
until the layup
morphs into the three point shot
...in at the buzzer!
They were dream sirens who fit into everybody’s wheelhouse
Four dream quintessentials named for their special talents.
Are they faeries, goddesses or pixies? People asked sandman.
It did not matter; they were faith, love, hope and joy.
Faith gave dreams that helped people believe in the unseen.
Her special talent was to uplift, enthuse, and enlighten.
Spirituality was her base, she did not push personal doctrines.
Her sisters were amazed at her talents, they were magnificent.
Love gave husbands and wife mutual dreams.
Dreams that inspired words like dearest, beloved and honey.
Hope uplifted people’s expectations, inspiring dreams and wishes.
Joy added to their dreams with passion, enthusiasm and joy.
(for J.B.P.)
A polarizing figure
A catalyzing force
A man for all seasons
He’s a man called Horse
A strong man in the wheelhouse
A tall man in the field
No crow of ruin touches him
His constitution, steeled
What dragon of today
Could touch that mighty pen?
Demonized, lionized
All faces at once
Like Einstein or Picasso
An immortal eminence
His enemies can’t catch him
Though they try and try
Their straw-man feats of idiocy
Are quickly sent to die
What dragon of today
Could still that mighty voice?
And now he fights the dragon
Of an ideology
That seeks to reinvent the world
And up-end reality
But Saint George has his hood on
His chainmail and his flail
And he’ll take that sword to the cynics’ board
And remove the serpent’s tail
So to prove that truth can’t fail
What dragon of today
Could singe that mighty heart?
I think you’ve got to stick with what you know;
It’s fun to try new stuff if you don’t mind
That some of your attempts are going to blow,
And most of it you’ll want to leave behind.
From time to time it’s true that some will stick,
Like throwing pasta wet against a wall.
But satisfaction’s far less hit or miss
When you pursue what you know best of all.
I do imagine I’ll improve upon
The finer points required of this art;
For now, I think shall not go beyond
What lies within my wheelhouse and my heart.
O, rats. I've been assigned to write a serious poem
As if a boy can snap his fingers and grow 'em
What's worse, I hear it has to be a sonnet
I'll just throw 'Teach' a curveball with a dollop
of mustard on it
Romance and yucky kissing, just not in my wheelhouse
Better to write about Tom Sawyer's latest treehouse
Or adventure with pirates, buried treasure, and alligators
Hey, think she'd like verses about wrestling gladiators
Why's she watching me with those beady eyes of hers
Is she worried I'll pen cuss words or racial slurs
She needn't bother: I'm as pure as the driven snow
I've got it -- I'll write a sonnet 'bout Santa: Ho, Ho, Ho!
Well, the class is nearly over; my sonnet is due
Hope 'Teach' likes my Santa and Merry Christmas to you!
in the arms of mother nature
drifting with the tide
winds pushed up ice water mountains
the voyage home was to be a hard ride
water broke the wheelhouse window
charts floated as the boat tipped down
and when she came back
the radar went black
please God don't let us
run aground
the minutes slowed down to hours
a crew of nerves with fingers numb
from the North Atlantic showers
hearts beat fast while bailing pumps hum
the darkness and the fury played
a thousand violins
while the twisting wet
seasoned plank shrieked in the high winds
when we lost all of the power
the boat spun around
cold and soaking wet
could feel the warm sweat
please God
don't let us run aground
it moved on its own like electricity
shimmering
sparking in the wires
arcing light
or
like air in my tires
...you rolled
drove me
roved me with sleight of hand
melt of my belts
turn of the wheelhouse
you slid me to left
rocked me hard to right
dressed me
cloaked me
in one single wild flower
you caressed me
with silk
stole my manners...you left nothing of me
I was the milk and honey
you drank
grew tall and I small
humbled before the tidal turquoise caverns
deep trenches
rip tide pull
I am round as the supple pie
you lithe as stripped bark
my rings go round and ripple outward into the world
you satellite me
I forever circle you
Puzzle share
among a pair
shows you care
loving spouse
to spend time
in my wheelhouse
woven slice
of a life
crafted so nice
Since you took
the time
inside me, to look
my heart
thankful for
your fixed thoughtful part
2/26/2017
I’ve never learned to tie a scarf
Which makes me quite the fool
‘Cause scarves can make an outfit
Look both chic and really cool.
I stare at women sporting them
Tied in a jaunty knot
And wonder what it is they have
That I just haven’t got.
My mother never taught me
How to carry off, with flair,
A swath of silk around my neck,
So suave and debonair.
What isn’t in our wheelhouse,
Even if it could be taught,
Likely never would be something
We would seek if never sought.
Morning fog was parting for the day's performance,
and an audience of just me sat cross legged,
waiting for ghosts.
They appeared slowly, one by one.
Old whalers, freighters and, fifty yards out,
slate grey bones scarred with burnt sienna,
a young trawler.
A Cormorant dried its wings on the wheelhouse,
primary feathers spread, glistening ebony,
tattered like a tramp's raincoat.
The surf whispered warnings.
February 4th 2016
For contest 'The Sea shore' sponsor- Craig Cornish
Out of The Dungeon
By Rick Rucker
A Death necessitated my Escape,
But I knew not what to do, on Love’s uncharted Seascape.
Before I met You, my devastation was Utter,
Wallowing around, like a ship with no rudder!
You’re a steady navigator, that much is clear,
Steered me off the Rocks, both far and near.
Now our Voyage of Discovery is coming to port,
I suspect that we will soon have some new jewelry to sport!
I see us giving up the Sea for dry land,
Dancing among friends, to music, hand in hand.
Your Love has made me more than I am,
Calmed my restlessness, made me meek as a lamb!
With You, I can do Impossible things,
Your Love has taught my Heart to grow wings!
There are those that think me quite daft,
I’ve listened to them, then, at them, laughed!
Instead of a wheelhouse, a cottage I see,
A Red door for you, and Love Everlasting for Me!
If others could know that this is no Ruse,
If they could see my Life, it is what they would choose!
Out of the Dungeon, now atop the Mount,
You’re my Abby Faria, I am your Count!
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