A Mini Complaint
I bought a bag of mini chocolates
Individually wrapped
Where’s the FUN in that
More work, less reward
Day 10 PAD – write a mini poem
Pet Lament
Pet Lament
I still look for you
under the covers when I make the bed,
hiding behind the love seat,
sitting on the windowsill –
watching trains go by.
Did I love you enough?
Leaving you alone while I vacationed.
Did I love you too much?
Spoiling you with crunchy treats on demand.
Was I careless in my caring?
I think I hear your purr
coming from the bathtub
where you would lay on hot days –
I still leave a bowl of water
there for you. And I miss the
fine white cat fur that collected
in the corners and on my clothes.
Day Ten
Un(bee)lievable
Un(bee)lievable
I know you think I shouldn’t be able to fly
but here I am, in your garden,
buzzing around looking for flowers.
You cling to the old myth that my wings
are not large enough to lift my fuzzy body,
yet no one bothered to ask me how I managed.
I was once considered a pest, just
another summer irritant as I flew too
close to your picnics and games, and
you sprayed and swatted to make me go away.
Still, no one realized the role I played as
I went from plant to plant collecting and
depositing pollen until it was almost too late.
Now I am the darling of your garden where
you put up special boxes for me to nest in,
print me on T-shirts, paint me on cute mugs,
and marvel at my aviation skills.
Poetry of Paranoia
Poetry of Paranoia
This poem is not too sure of itself
It’s always looking over its shoulder
Second guessing itself
Waiting for the other shoe to drop
It sleeps with the lights on
And is always on the lookout
For black cats and sidewalk ladders
And open umbrellas indoors
It is a “chicken little” kind of poem
Expecting the sky to fall
Mat Reality
Mat Reality
yogis doing downward dog
while I lay prostate, like a log
triangles and eagle arms
I really do not feel the charm
cat and cow and plow and chair
make me think I might not care
about the mountains or the trees
or boats that never sail the seas
we twist and bend until at last
laid out like corpses, end of class
growing pains
growing pains
this poem is boney meter and stanza –
gangly, dangly lines and phrases.
it stumbles over its own feet,
has no rhyme or rhythm. it dreams
of becoming a sonnet, even an ode.
and when its feeling optimistic, it can
Imaging itself a villanelle.
Imitation
Imitation
I slowly strolled through the museum
admiring the flower arrangements that
had been designed to compliment some
of the artwork. Still life, portrait, landscape,
paired with bouquets of roses and exotic
bird of paradise and common daisies.
I stood beside some peach-colored dahlias
trying to interpret the floral artist’s vision
when I heard a whisper coming from
the middle of a brass planter. “There is
no painting that can duplicate us. You should
go outside to the garden to find true beauty.”
Bird Weary
Bird Weary
The birds are merrily chirping
away in my backyard.
Robins are hopping around
searching for worms hiding just
under the surface of the grass.
Chickadees are picking out their
favorite seeds from the feeder,
then flying off to the chokecherry tree
to crack them open, finding the best
part hidden inside.
A small wren is singing loudly from
the top of the garden fence,
hoping to attract a mate.
And a pair of bluebirds are
busy hauling twigs and grass
into the bird box hanging on
a pole, building a nest for
the eggs to come.
Here I sit, all alone with nothing to
do, nowhere to be, no one to talk to.
Stupid birds!
Day Five
Sending Love
Sending Love
She blows kisses to a fluffy cloud
Hoping the wind will blow it
Straight to you, then squeeze it
Out to express every drop
Of love it holds upon your life
Garden Magic
Garden Magic
Deep in each small seed
A mystery lies buried
Only sun and rain
Can create the magic spell
That will free the hidden prize
A red tomato
Or a yellow sunflower
Captured in a shell
Waiting to at last uncurl
To the gardener’s delight
rhymeswithbug 