A Message from the Owner

Snow on Trees by David Wagner

I know you know I own this wood,
And yes, the view is awfully good
When snowflakes fall on wintry nights
On land where birches long have stood.

If you had only looked, you'd find
A wooden “No Trespassing” sign,
Hung in plain sight upon the fence
That serves as my dividing line.

From this day forth I would prefer
To keep my privacy secure,
So find another road to take,
But first, clean up your horse manure!


~~~  Written for the Poetic Asides Poem a Day Chapbook Challenge Day 8 prompt, asking us to pick a poem by a dead poet and write a response.  I chose to write to Robert Frost's poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," tongue very firmly in cheek of course.

The Rogue Gods of Domestic Chaos

Socks by Peter Griffin

They send forth their minions
Who invade under the cover of the spin cycle,
Stealing socks and spiriting them away
Into the nether regions of the laundry,
Transforming cotton-woolen blends
Into wire coat hangers,
Those distorted instruments bent
On staging a clothing coup
And seizing control of our closets,
Leaving a path of disarray
Through our carefully constructed household bliss.

And that’s why you don't have any matched socks, dear.


~~~~ This poem was written for the Poetic Asides Poem a Day Chapbook Challenge Day 1 prompt of writing a matches poem.

A Missive from the Lair

E_E_V_U_L_Lair by AEigner @ deviantART

Unappreciated for so long,
I was treated as nothing more
Than background scenery
For your paranoid suspicions.
In your world I had no meaning,
But this is not your world anymore.
The balance of power has shifted
And a new world order is at hand.

You are the one who created
A monster from a martyr.  
Your treachery pushed my fragile heart
Past despair into bloodthirsty vengeance.
Are you delusional enough
To believe anyone would face mortal danger
To rescue the likes of you?
Treason comes at a price,
And your demise will be
Solitary, agonizing, torturous,
And greatly enjoyed by me.

So many armaments at my disposal,
So many ways in which I can destroy you…
Releasing my horde of minions
To eviscerate your flesh?
A laser death cannon
Aimed at the vital organ you prize most?  
No, I think the most effective weapon
In my vast arsenal is my poison pen,
Poetic retribution for your actions,
Your sins laid bare for all to see.
An opportunity for you to experience life
Lost in the dark, twisting shadows
Of my write wing conspiracy.


~~~~~~~~ This poem was inspired by a prompt from Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, in which we were asked to pick out our favorite break-up song, take a line from that song, and use it to write a reinvented anthem for ourselves.  The song I picked was "Missin' You" by John Waite.  You can check out the video below.

The Legend of Supermom

I have a secret identity
That I cannot escape,
In reality I’m Supermom
In a stain-resistant cape.

Daily I bring order
To our frenzied home-front scene.
My lack of sleep means little,
‘Cause I’m powered by caffeine.

I can leap large piles of laundry
With just a single bound,
And my skill at fighting dust bunnies
Is certain to astound.

Alarm clock, breakfast, out the door,
We hustle off to school.
Juggling errands and appointments,
And I never lose my cool.

Then it’s practice, lessons, dinner,
And a giant homework stack.
Dishes, bath time, PJ’s,
And tomorrow’s lunch to pack.

Armed with only humor
And a quick imagination,
What’s the best reward for Supermom?
An extended solo vacation!

Limericks

A poet who lived in Odell

Wound up trapped in a lyrical hell,

Oh, the rhyme scheme and meter

Are certain to beat her

While attempting her first villanelle.

There was an old man named McDougal

Who spent his time hunting on Google.

His internet history

Would spark quite a mystery,

He’s Googling bugles and kugel.

Our resident demon dog, Cheech

Our hyper young doggie named Cheech

Is proving to be hard to teach.

If his signals we miss,

On most anything he’ll piss,

Good thing I’m well stocked up on bleach!

My Worst Nightmare

I’m grateful whenever life grants
A reason for a victory dance,
       But this day of my dreams
       Is just not what it seems.
I’m in public without any pants!

Aging Gracefully?

It’s a conspiracy, I tell you.   

It all started 

With a few crinkles 

Around the eyes 

(Laugh lines?  Do I look like I’m laughing?) 

They must have decided 

They liked the scenery 

And stuck around.

And they invited friends.  

Great.  

Then the occasional ache

In my weary bones,  

Growing more and more frequent, 

Until the creaks and groans 

Became my morning mantra 

When rising to face the day,

Every day.  

Great.  

And the hormones, 

The hormones,  

Oh my God, the hormones!

I’m too hot.

I’m too cold. 

I’m too hot.

I’m too cold. 

I need a new thermostat!  

And those mood swings 

Have me looking 

Not to my doctor 

But an exorcist 

For assistance. 

Great.  

Oh, that cruel joke of gravity, 

Converting body parts 

From perky to plummeting?  

Not funny.  

Not cool.   

Mother Nature and Father Time, 

The banes of my existence, 

I demand a map, 

A schedule, 

Something to help me navigate 

This minefield of aging gracefully.  

You’ll be right on that, right?  

Great.

A Limerick for my Muse

Die Muse Kallipe - Leonhard Kern

I was cursed with a quite stubborn muse
Who constantly gives me the blues.
     When poetic inspiration
     Departs on vacation,
My writer’s pride always gets bruised.

The Perfect Cup

“If this is coffee, please bring me some tea; but if this is tea, please bring me some coffee.”
~Abraham Lincoln

I start my day with coffee,
Without it I don’t budge,
But when my husband makes it,
It tastes like bitter sludge.

I try the local café,
Still craving my first sip.
I spit it out without delay
With grounds upon my lip.

I contemplate the drive-thru
And my hands shake with dread.
I think I’ll hit the mini-mart
And buy a Coke instead.