No need to remember
orchestrated edibles.
After all, the script
is always available.

I prefer memories of
Cheerios stuck to fingers
and foreheads,
steak knife in an open jar
on the floor,
peanut butter footprints
leading out the back door.

And that first cup of hot tea
shared with a tentatively adult smile.

Sounds like some Grandma time?  Love the second stanza.

Happy Thanksgiving. D

LOL. Only wishing. Memories of my own babies. :)
I hope you had a Happy Day, too.

Excellent. Just how I feel about Chrstmas.

i love it! and hey, nice picture...meow...
joseph

In Bed

I hear someone singing saying
that I break like a little girl
I lie under quilts
that I stitched
and try to hold myself

so I cry
and crying makes my head hurt
and that I like
because I can feel it
inside.

Found a shriveled black thing
under the bed
while vacuuming today.
Gingerly picked it up.
Humph, I puffed. An apple
and all the time I thought
that sickly, sweet smell
was love.

I had more fun
back in the old days
when I drank Boonesfarm
and could eat butter
and drink all the milk
I wanted out of a jug
and feel satisfied.
 
Back in the day when Mother
was saddle-stiched
and printed on newsprint
and eating brown bread
was only for us hippies.
   
I'm cleaned up
now in more ways than one
and digging the technology
of this Brave New World
but Man, what I wouldn't
give to be camped
in the woods
in a van that might not start
with you and a joint.

Lavonne....

  I had a giggle.... Tickled Pink by any chance? 

Laura

Huntress

Diana on the hunt
  with poison-tipped pen,
Pauses to admire
  the thoughts of some men
But quickly returns
  to the point of the hunt
The goddess states clearly,
  “I must always be blunt.
If you place on display
  the plumage you cherish
Be prepared for my shaft
  or you may soon perish!
My arrows are true
  And pain they can cause,
So bandage the wound
  With much thought and some gauze.
Though you have survived,
  My aim was still true.
I’ve improved your verse
  By expressing my view!”

for a friend who can be very pointed in her criticism and who is usually correct!

Daily Dance

found poetry

Tap here.

Wait for 0.0.

Step on.

Addiction

“You’re addicted
to that computer.”
he said.

I thought,
“How clever of you
to think
deep thoughts
and use
a remote at the same time.

This sure made me chuckle.

Pamme

I

Larry waited until I walked
to the mail box and when
I turned around
He was right there
blocking my retreat,
asking me how things were going.
He was dripping with sweat;
mower crouched beside him,
engine growling.
Again, he was telling me
I should clear out that back garden.
“Tall grass invites
rodents, you know.”
I kept my eyes focused on the junk mail
and muttered that
Chuck would get around to it.
Larry gave up; he hates to waste gas
and breath.


II

Later,
when the sun was sinking
I lay down in the grass
at the back of the garden.
From my cradle I could see
Larry with a beer in his hand
watching me
from his redwood deck.
All I could hear
was the creepings
of polka-dotted ladies
and rabbits.
I ignored Larry.


III

Larry finally got to my husband
and when I returned home
from the market yesterday,
my front yard
was raked clean. The forsythia
and rose of sharon were gone,
guillotined at the root by rusted shears.
“Looks great, doesn’t it?
It took me all day to do it.”
I’m going to work on the back garden
tomorrow.  I couldn’t speak. No pink and yellow
flowers next spring. No green
to block my view of
a noisy highway.
I remember Desiree told me,
“The poetry's in the clippings
not the groomed lawn.”

My poetry sits
in black plastic bags
at the end of the drive.






I'd appreciate your thoughts on this raw poem...

I know-it needs paring down to the essentials.
It's a long read to get to a weak ending.