“Left over right,” is what she said.
“Left over right, or you are dead.”
But, I forgot what I was told
and now my lips are crisp and cold
I went to South End late last night
to eat some oyster stew
and saw a wicked awesome fight
while sipping on my brew!
Sweet punches flew like fighter planes
from two gigantic men,
until some cops came bearing chains
and passage to the pen!
If we could rip away our skin
and love the blood that drips within,
this hate that soils our world with pain
would vanish like a morning rain.
The shindig sheathed a shadowed year
in reams of cheese and streams of beer.
We stumbled home at half past four
and fell asleep upon the floor.
jostles my jowls
in a wild woodland glossed
with glass, as a whining wind prowls
Mad summer’s face shall quickly fall,
when autumn shows its cheek.
For now, I wear a sylvan shawl
and wait for leaves to speak.
Outside our town there was a glade
where coats of comely mallow swayed.
Their beauty made the billows weep
and caused blithe bumblebees to leap
upon those vivid violet thrones
to gather dusty yellow stones.
The wooers chose that pretty place
to slyly bask in joy’s embrace.
Each morning at the stroke of nine
they hurried past the prickly pine
to wallow in warm waiting arms
and revel in each other’s charms.
“Plight of the Peevish Peddler” is a 2,360 word narrative poem, written in iambic tetrameter that I wrote about a year and a half ago. This excerpt is from the poem’s second section.
The Rubliw was invented by American poet Richard Wilbur. It is a 9 line form that is framed as a message to an individual person or to a larger group of people. The Rubliw is monorhymed and bears the following iambic structure.
L1 – monometer
L2 – dimeter
L3 – trimeter
L4 – tetrameter
L5 – pentameter
L6 – tetrameter
L7 – trimeter
L8 – dimeter
L9 – monometer
The longest noodle in the world
on polished fork was now just twirled.
This piece of pasta is so vast
that after lunch, it’s time to fast!
Today’s writing post is intentionally light fare.
is an offense
which manifestly must
be uprooted with an intense
My maternal grandmother was a skilled miniaturist who painstakingly created a beautiful collection of small fascinating rooms. This short poem was inspired by her “Victorian Parlour.”