Wanda Witch

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.

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Created and simmered for Susanna Leonard Hill’s Halloweensie Contest.

Once There Was Soul

I had an opinion once

-I think-

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

Without thought?

Tap a screen

Or, swipe it.

*Ping*

Whatever you do, don’t look around

The device before your face.

Take Me as I Am

Take me as I am

I am
feelings-
They run deep. and strong. and personal.

I am
woman-
I have hormones. and instincts. and issues.

I am
smart-
I love words. a clever joke. or a math puzzle.

I am
average-looking-
With small eyes. a big nose. a few imperfect teeth.

I am
human-
I make mistakes. have flaws. feel embarrassing moments.

I am
capable-
I am! I am! I am!

I am me, and am not another

Take me as I am

And stop apologizing.

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World’s Worst Poem, Plated

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.

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Carrot Ranch Literary Society Prompt

Houseplant Plea

Excuse me, ma’am
Or sir
Or dog
But could you spare a drop?

I need no dam
For sure
No bog
Just please, won’t you please stop?

I mean no insult
To state
Remind
‘Twas you who placed me here.

For what result?
I say.
Mankind
Wishes me dead, I fear.

I’d love to grow.
I think
You think
That’s what I sit here for.

But dried leaves show
I drink
I shrink
Where roots will soak no more.

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