Lingerie Show at the Food Court

Photo by Jan H. Anderson

The hungry boy’s mom fell on her face
As the boy ran, she tried to keep pace
Then her bad knee went out
And she went down with a shout
Kerplunk! with not one whit of grace.

Dress a mess, mom was flat on her face
Exposing quite a bit of her satin and lace
Her red-faced son was appalled
“How could you? Not here at the mall!
Now can I please have a burger and shake?”


Written for Mad Kane's weekly Limerick-Off.

Note:  I'm knee-deep (so to speak) in getting my house ready to sell, so I won't be out on the blogosphere quite as frequently. But I'll try to get around now and then, and I will be back.


The Reincarnation of Leonard Birdstein

Photo by Ludovic Péron 

He’d always believed he’d lived another life before this one. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t remember what it was.

He was pretty sure it had something to do with music, though. How else to explain how moved he was every time he heard the opening notes of West Side Story?


Written for Friday Flash 55 hosted by Mr. KnowItAll. Welcome back, G-Man!



Soon enough. 

stitching the sky in black lace
circling beady eyes on the prize
dipping darting fighting each other off
each intent on scoring the best morsels

battered and weakened by a string
of dark days hanging heavy
by a thread woven of pain
unable to move without a stumble

Just not now.


Linked at dVerse Poets Pub


Mother Nature's Make-Up?

natural beauty
scrubbed clean to a rosy glow
nothing more needed
Written for Sensational Haiku Wednesday
hosted by
You Know... That Blog?


Hunkering Down

(Image: detail taken from AP photo)

She’s not too bright sometimes,
my father always said. I’m not sure but
I think he meant it took me longer
than most to learn my lesson.

The storm has been raging for months.
The winds die down from time to time,
and being the slow learner that I am,
I'm lulled into thinking all is well.

I can’t say I thought it was safe to go out again
because I never came in. I leaned into the wind,
plodded forward, taking everything that came my way,
but making less progress with every step.

The winds howled and buffeted and tore
at my soul and still I pushed on,
battered and bruised, eye on the prize,
like an idiot, or somebody hell-bent on nobility,

I slog on no longer.
Perseverance is a poor substitute
for winning, and nobility is
just another word for crazy.


Linked at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Poetry Pantry, dVerse Poets Pub