Open-faced, I face them;
yet see they are not what they say
-a two-way mirror with no desire to show what lies behind-
and I sit, face in hands, and try to play their games
but end up lost amongst the Fun House maze, wondering where they all hide
and where the laughter comes from.
What if today you breathed your last
Despite your daily cares?
What if you chose this last-day leap
While the outcome was unclear?
What if, for all you think and plan,
Your feet still drag along?
Would your children know it was all for them?
What if, what if
Wanda Witch sat frowning.
Her cauldron sat a-bubbl’ng.
She’d wanted to concoct a treat;
The recipe was troubl’ng.
“Eye of newt? Skin of dog?
Dead frog’s toes and liver?”
The thought of even touching one
Made fingers shake and shiver.
She called her faithful crow;
It came, it perched, it said,
“You need a diff’rent recipe
With yummy things, instead.”
Nodding, Wanda looked around.
The coast was clear and so,
Adding this and stirring that,
Formed a tasty, sug’ry dough.
The cauldron sat, still bubbl’ng.
The crow flew to his rookery.
The witch removed a steaming pan:
Howl-een chocolate cookies.
Created and simmered for Susanna Leonard Hill’s Halloweensie Contest.
No Tube for You
No Book to Face
The rest unPinned
In-stead of Linked
I Red it all
The day the internet died.
I had an opinion once
But thinking is another thing I’m not certain I ever did.
Whether I did or not,
I try not to do so anymore.
-Let’s not think about it.
So what should we do
Tap a screen
Or, swipe it.
Whatever you do, don’t look around
The device before your face.
Take me as I am
They run deep. and strong. and personal.
I have hormones. and instincts. and issues.
I love words. a clever joke. or a math puzzle.
With small eyes. a big nose. a few imperfect teeth.
I make mistakes. have flaws. feel embarrassing moments.
I am! I am! I am!
I am me, and am not another
Take me as I am
And stop apologizing.
Perdonnez, signora, will you taste my
veritable vermicelli which lost a
Tagliatelle or gnocchi -or was
it tortellini or gemelli?- that cost a
Few dozzina homemade noodles: measured,
mixed, rolled, chopped, shaped, and boiled -hasta
Domani, questa mattina -when nappy
And wriggly rigatoni-head rastas
Dangle candid cannelloni for
colazione (o pranzo o cena o altro) sauced, a
Banchetto of bavett, bucatini,
bigoli, e barbina; which fosta
Amore, our home country joy; precious
mem’ries of mamma o zia o ci, who bossed a
Flourishing, famishing family,
practically-plated with a plethora of pasta.
If that doesn’t bake your noodle, you’ve lost-a.
Carrot Ranch Literary Society Prompt
Before a star-gilded crowd:
A cricket chorus.
Nature is whisp’ring
Behind negligent ambience;
Waiting, and waiting.
Excuse me, ma’am
But could you spare a drop?
I need no dam
Just please, won’t you please stop?
I mean no insult
‘Twas you who placed me here.
For what result?
Wishes me dead, I fear.
I’d love to grow.
That’s what I sit here for.
But dried leaves show
Where roots will soak no more.