Posts Tagged ‘play


sounds the same

They say seafood is an acquired taste but
By the time I turned thirteen I knew I loved muscles.
Some folks like to stick with local producers.
Provenance is no impediment to me-
Imported? Domestic? Artificially stimulated?
Hell, they all look good.
I’ve heard that you should stay away
From oysters in months whose names lack an “R”.
This rule does not apply to muscles
Because summer is when they’re at their best.
Squeeze on a dollop of oil, heat then add salt to taste.
I’ll eat ’em up with a spoon.
Damn. My mouth is watering already and
It’s cloudy and still early June.


Ten-Minute Spill (work in progress)

“A bird in the hand can get lonely,”
Mother’s robotic voice whirs.
“If all the other kids jump off a cliff-”
But why should I listen to her?
She raised us with licks and no promise,
Spat out like watermelon seeds.
We’re floating downstream with no future;
Baby Moses in our leaky beds of reeds.
You can’t practice if there’s no preaching.
Little birds don’t fall far from the tree.

This results from a writing exercise by Rita Dove in the book “The Practice of Poetry.” The goal was ten lines in ten minutes beginning with an adage that is changed in some way. Not bad for a first effort I think and I’ll come back over time to revise it.



to fall for a guy
who has cauliflower ears
is cheesy I know.

you sit your mount well;
please, ease up on how freely
you’re using the crop.


Little Boys/Little Girls

Little Boys
they’re not supposed to
wear Mom’s make-up so how come
girls can shoot toy guns

Little Girls
go on. play doctor
but when you grow up people
will still yell “hey, nurse!”


To A Brownish Tabby

Canny acrobat with a kitten’s face
Her tricks owe more to luck than grace.
Balancing on three feet, one in the air
Making flawless toes, grooming hair.
Performs some sleight of hand with catnip mice
Then leaps- Eliza crossing ice-
Up toward the armoire, showing off once more;
Target missed she slips to the floor.
Wee cat, when you’re chasing piggies or curled snug on the bed
Who could recall it seeming you’ve not a brain in your head?

(Because tomorrow is Robert Burns’ birthday, I attempted this homage.)