Tired Old Words

Quickly and The Twiglet    (It was a monster mash)

Come See What’s New!
the glossy ad screamed at me
in lurid red and black bold words
with lots of exclamation points
and quotation marks and
underlining galore. I quickly
trashed it as a waste of a tree
and the mailperson’s time.
Besides it gave me a migraine
as if the page was flashing
garish lights and megaphone
sounds of buy, buy, buy.
Ho boy, I thought to myself
the Ecclesiastical preacher
said it first, best and conclusively…
THERE IS NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN!

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Waiting for God


QUICKLY   Monday Makes No Sense

The truth of the matter is
that is exactly how I feel
stitches holding at the seams
Bold colors that go back to the 60’s
when I could get away with
wearing flowers in my hair.
I was functional, had a purpose,
looking forward to the day
when we could play
that’s what I was working for.
All those early mornings
getting you off to work
saving, scrimping, planning,
for old age…

But, somehow, I feel like
it’s the day after Christmas
and I’m the pocketbook
with stupid zippers that
run up and down. I’m
standing in line – waiting
to return it for…

 

Title: Waiting for God is a British sitcom that ran on BBC1 from 1990 to 1994 starring Graham Crowden as Tom and Stephanie Cole as Diana, two spirited residents of a retirement home who spend their time running rings around the home’s oppressive management and their own families.

Bad Boys

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(image found on Bing)

Quickly  Combine “The Highwayman”, By Alfred Noyes and “Claude Duval” painting  by William Powell Frith

 

Something there is that loves a rogue, a rascal’s heart.
That cheers for the Bonnies and Clydes
that admires the Robin Hoods and Claude Duvals
that loves the bad boys and their counterparts.

Something there is that loves a scallywag, a rebel,
that laugh and jeer at the rules they bend
that smiles for the masses and taunts the law
then lives on in the folk lore they tell.

Pickin’ Peas

Twiglets #128

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Pickin’ peas, pickin’ pawpaws
pickin’ berries, pickin’ cherries
pickin’ every cotton pickin’ thing
thorns prick and bees sting
but summers here and cannin’s
comin’ and ma says I’ll get a tannin’
if I don’t hurry! Oh, my, heart,
I’d rather be swimmin’ but I do my part
dreaming of much later in the day
when I will have surely earned my play.

I Remember…

Poetic Bloomings

Making clover bracelets and daisy chains
searching for that leaf of lucky four
sunbaked mud-pies with buttercups adorned
gifted to grandmother with grimy hands

Days of kick-the-can, bike rides, hide and seek,
grandma’s call to supper… don’t be late!
nights of quilted sleep and feather pillows
child’s prayer and a pee can under the bed.

Call of the whippoorwill and quail’s Bob White
the barn owl’s eerie screech in the night
and bullfrogs’ bass serenade from the pond
while crickets ‘neath the window chirped a song

Memories are what’s best of getting old
simple joys, innocence of the times
between Korea and Vietnam and…
It’s ironic how we longed to grow-up.

 

*Reworked poem posted on Poetic Bloomings