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AND NUMBER THIRTY

Haiku to end the run

***

April is complete

Snow storms, broken trees, Easter

thirty poems in…

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NaPoWriMo TWENTY NINE

 

Only two more poems ’til the month is done.

It has been challenging, nagging fun.

I wondered at first how to find my voice.

Then realized, no matter, just make a choice.

Sit yourself down and write something new!

Do it!  Right now!  Just do what you do!

Nobody cares if it’s quite good, or bad.

Most everyone already thinks you are mad.

Most will not read it, so give it a go.

Put fingers to keyboard, develop a flow.

So I did and I’ve made it this far at least.

One more before midnight will slay April’s beast.

Then onward to May with a flowery festoon.

Resolve fixed and focused to continue through June.

 

 

 

 

 

 

HERE LIES THE RUB

 

 

Thirty-eight years I have done mortgage work

liking it less each year that I do it,

but it pays my bills, and feeds my face,

so I freely choose to stick to it

 

Unlike others I know who plan things well

I have no means to retire

though I have reached that age

when my employer may very well require

 

I stop showing up, grumping around

thinking I know so much,

when in truth, if I face it,

I am pretty much out of touch

 

We’ll see, we .shall. see

how much longer I tolerate their ire.

It is tough to not tell them to just drop dead,

I have never been a good liar.

THIEF IN THE NIGHT

 

It was YOU, no doubt, you blasted, late evening cup of Nespresso

with your luscious Guinness – like head of crema,

the black and tan of non-alcoholic delights,

your nutty flavor with the slightly robust finish,

<can anything be slightly robust?>

sinful, rich, dark, smooth, not-to-be-ignored temptation,

dastardly beverage brewed from the fruit of Colombian mountains,

drunk at the end of a lovely evening of hugs from friends.

YOU stole my sleep,  just when I craved it,

needed it to free my brain of a week of mortgage nonsense.

I needed that sleep, you yellow-bellied, pusillanimous bastard!

NEEDED it, damn it!

Now look at me,  sitting here in near pitch blackness

pecking away at keys on this callous machine,

shooing off the cat who is also now awake, mewling for attention.

Oh!  I know just how this endless, sleepless, leg shaking night will end.

Know it as surely as the night is cold, and long, and dark,

“darker than the inside of goat,” one long lost beloved would say.

I will sit here searching for synonyms which will lead me down long dead ends,

diverting my focus; twisting my tale into meaningless drivel.

Then I will pace the room; pull at my hair, shed my robe, put it on again,

stand in front of the fridge, not really hungry, not really looking,

sit back down poised to write something brilliant, monumental…

then, when I have stared long enough at this  uncaring, back-lit screen,

I will sit down somewhere, but not in my bed, to finish Mystery on the Isles of Shoals

the outcome of which I have already studied, about which I have wondered for years,

and I will fall asleep, hitting deep, REM sleep as never before, until my book

crashes -as in “crash (verb) fall or come down violently” – to the floor

finally awakening me to go to bed where I will gladly sleep the sweetest sleep of the night

waking only when the sun is streaming through the window,

when I will stretch, scratch Emil’s ears and brew another cup of YOU.

 

 

 

 

 

HILLARY VS TRUMP

it will be a riot to watch them spar
Trump shall emerge winner above and far
he will direct the conversation
and captivate the nation
as he eviscerates the democrat star

WET CLEAN UP ON FIVE

Do not just stand there!

Mop up that spreading blind sludge

well before dinner!

 

 

 

 

EUREKA SPRINGS

As I recall,

the air was cool

and clear,

and filled

with every songbird on earth

singing Halelujah,

and I thought

to step out

onto the treetops

to walk amongst the angels.

 

 

NaPoWriMo #23

DEADLINE

Imminent or far

Start the dance early eve’ning

Champagne is chilling

 

Prince

Something good happens
when a celebrity dies,
we all claim a piece
and everyone cries.
We stop and recall,
just for a short while,
where we first heard them
saw friends, families smile.
The thing I remember,
as we salute Prince,
is how hearing his music
made my daughter dance.
Laughing, head bobbing,
she let her freak shine
that New Year’s evening
nineteen ninety nine.
So, before I move on
with my everyday things
I wish Prince good journey
to the heaven of kings.
Not ’cause I knew him,
I hadn’t the chance,
but for how his guitar
made my daughter dance.

NaPoWriMo EIGHTEEN-INTERMISSION

There has been no snow for over ten days

 

Neighbors have pulled chairs to driveways

Facing the sun, chins up, eyes closed –

Lizards soaking up warmth.

 

Anyone seen Jeannie walking Chanel?

or Sonya with wiggling Murphy?

We really need to have a potluck on our front lawns.

 

Hold those thoughts!

It snowed again!

Everyone back to the caves!