Dinner Party

As soon as they arrive the mood is light,

strong appetites accompanying all,

the music and the table set just right.

My canapés do no less than enthrall.

They audibly appreciate the food,

“Yum-yum!”ing, “I want more!”ing, and the such,

all standing by the hors d’oeuvres like they’re glued,

all saying that they love my food so much.

The compliments don’t ever seem to end.

Each course I serve tops what could not be topped.

The flavors fuse to yield the perfect blend.

I’m Queen of All the Cooks! I can’t be stopped!

It worked with toddlers. Soon, I’ll try adults …

if only I can mimic the results!

The Lap of Luxury

I finally have folded all the clothes.

I washed the dishes and put them away.

I smothered all the bonfires that arose.

I cleaned up all the finger paint and clay.

I planned out all the meals we’ll eat this week.

I purchased the supplies they need for school.

I made the time to “play” some hide-n-seek.

I took them all for swimming at the pool.

I helped the eldest find his poster board.

I scraped the bubble gum from Boo-Boo’s hair.

I straightened out the wireless router cord.

I treated all the stains in underwear.

“You used to work before you had a kid?”

Sigh. ‘Once upon a time, I guess I did.’

Little Child

My little child, I’ve seen you grow so tall.

The top shelf is no match for you these days.

How times have changed from when you used to crawl!

You’re so mature  in oh so many ways.

You’re using words I have to look up now.

Your grasp of physics now surpasses mine.

You’ve learned, yourself; I need not show you how.

I wish I could reverse the march of time.

You’re old enough to make kids of your own.

Though, if you’ve listened, you won’t do it yet.

I bask in the good judgment that you’ve shown,

and hope the things I’ve taught, you won’t forget.

(And when you snap the photos that I’m in,

your height helps hide my horrid double chin!!!)



Discounting its import, a grave mistake,

pretending sex won’t have impact like this;

it’s something you must tend to for the sake

of marriage and your precious wedded bliss.

If you don’t get along, you’re surely doomed,

a fundamental problem you can’t shirk.

The sex won’t be enough, as was assumed.

Both need much more to make the marriage work.

But even if you’ve roots so thick and strong,

as to remain so firmly set in place,

the problems will prevail when sex goes wrong,

and in the end, divorce is what you’ll face.

Good sex can’t save a sinking marriage ship.

Bad sex will tear an everlasting rip.




A symphony of word and breath and sound,

conducted by my lover’s vocal chords,

intangible, but fervently profound,

ephemeral, auricular rewards.

The oscillating sound waves reach my ears,

his exhalation warm, as is his heart,

as soon as I have heard, it disappears …

the impact will remain though we will part.

It comes to me whenever he’s away.

I close my eyes, pretend he’s here with me.

I’ve memorized, to in my head, replay

whenever he’s asleep or absentee.

There’s nothing in the world that’s quite the same

as how my precious lover calls my name.



I’d like to say there’s anything I’d do,

no length to which I wouldn’t ever go,

no epic tale of woe I’d not go through,

no gesture graced with love that I’d not show.

I’ll rescue you from structures pitched with flames,

I’ll carry you at times when you can’t walk,

defend you when you when your foe unjustly blames,

and listen to you when you need to talk.

But I will not stand idly by and watch,

nor keep inside my words which bear the truth.

You’ve kicked your self-destruction up a notch;

no longer is this folly of your youth.

I’d die for you … that’s all I have to give.

But one thing I can’t do for you is live.

True Love

I love to be alone, just you and me.

You take me places I’ve not ever been.

You show me things I’d otherwise not see.

You never care what kind of mood I’m in.

You offer me your whole self, never less.

We do not play those lovers’ games or fight.

No matter how I feel, you ease my stress.

I want you in my bedroom every night.

I love the feel of you—your size and heft.

Your smell, alone, invokes the peace I need.

Sometimes I feel you’re all that I have left.

That’s why I make sure I have books to read.

You’re only more distinguished as you age.

I relish reading every single page.

The Delay

The screeching of the tires defaced the air,

its echo blotting out the sun at first,

the crash that followed next a solar flare,

inflicting on its victims life at worst.

The acrobatic vehicle’s routine:

a horrifying double somersault,

no harnesses or god to intervene,

a graceful, irreversible assault.

Thick-skulled chimpanzees gripe; they will be late,

ungrateful they will live another day,

ignoring lessons offered them by fate,

presented in such glorious display.

I sit and count my blessings till it clears,

aware my own mortality yet nears.


In certain situations … such as this …

no matter how portentous or austere,

the funeral of someone I will miss,

or moment that should fill my heart with fear,

I find that what I want to do is smile,

then burst into a violent giggle-fit,

the kind that sends me rolling in the aisle,

complete with tears and toots and flying spit.

I know that it is wrong, but I can’t stop.

I’m sure that I offend all within range–

this woman laughing so hard she might pop.

I know that my reaction must seem strange.

I’m sorry that your member made me laugh.

True justice could be served with merely half.


I saw you in the mirror just today.

You’d love the way the curls surround your face.

You wished you had my hair, you’d always say.

You do, your countenance now set in place.

 I came across an article last week.

A fascinating study had been done.

I quoted some statistics, like a geek;

your legacy is not to be outrun.

Engrossed in my beloved TV shows,

I’m caught off guard: I hear you laugh out loud,

for ev’ryday my laugh, more like yours, grows …

so many traits of yours I’ve been endowed.

Elusive still, your wisdom’s what I seek.

I haven’t quite yet mastered your technique.




Rain Dance

I love to spend my rainy days with you,

a good excuse to stay at home all day,

the freedom to do what we want to do.

Next time, there is a game I want to play.

I’ll drag you to the backyard and we’ll laugh.

Then, once we’re fully drenched, we’ll run inside.

We’ll grab a bottle, so we’ll each get half,

and lay down even though we’re neither dried.

We’ll both pretend we’re back in gay Paris

returning from our river dinner cruise,

so tickled our Parisian wine was free,

with soaking hair and soaking clothes and shoes …

then make love like we’re still in that hotel.

Instead, exhausted, fast asleep we fell.


abandoning corporeal restraints

discovering your perfect chance to fly

no longer subject to the pain that taints

autonomy in infinite supply

absorbing new sensations full of ease

rejoicing as you’ll never fear again

unlocked now are the chains of your disease

no bleeding like a ruptured fountain pen

eluding facts of crime and war and hate

no challenge scaling rubble or steep scree

ascending high above embracing fate

examples you set writ on my marquis

all enemies are vanquished and dissolve

as far beyond mere humans you evolve


I constantly discover whom I am,

each new experience, a catalyst,

a psychoanalytic self-exam …

an invitation I just can’t resist.

 I learned, one year, that both my thumbs are green,

that horseradish and mustard stole my heart,

that I’d maintain an exercise regime,

that really, it is not too late to start.

But other things, I didn’t want to know,

like how harsh I can be when it gets tough,

that things I’d hoped were always, I’d outgrow,

that sometimes, words would never be enough.

 It’s tempting, to avoid perceiving more,

to skulk back in my cave and latch the door.

The Inevitable

Again, this May, I gained another year.

An extra inch or three are on my waist.

The lines upon my brow grow more severe.

My keys and purse are constantly misplaced.

I have to have these bifocals to see.

My sunglasses near cover my whole face.

At times, when I am tickled, I will pee.

I always carry safety pins, in case ….

Just yesterday I found a hair that’s gray.

I value having comfy underwear.

  Those memories I’ve cherished fade each day …

if there’s an app for that, I’m unaware.

I wish  I could remain composed and calm.

The problem is, I’ve realized I’m my mom.

Colonel Beauregard Bojangles


I love my big, fat Ragdoll cat, named Beau.

His fur is gorgeous shades of crème and flame.

By far he is the softest cat I know.

His countenance is referenced by his name.


 He tops the scale at 19.5 pounds.

Stretched paw to tail, in inches, thirty-eight.

When Beau is brushed, he makes a trilling sound.

His waddle is the most endearing gait.


 A cranky boy, he speaks up when first touched.

From his great effort, when he jumps, he grunts.

A Ragdoll, Beau will dangle when he’s clutched,

but turns into a beast each time he hunts.


 He loves to have his big ol’ belly rubbed.

We do it all the time so he’ll feel loved.



Undoubtedly, I’m always in a funk,

existing in a neverending haze.

For years I’ve been accumulating junk,

the residue and scars from awful days.

I struggle to detach them from my life,

but still I am beholden to my past

emotional and health-related strife.

I helplessly obey. The die’s been cast.

Thus left with no escape, I organize,

identifying causes and effects.

I cannot win, so I must compromise

in hopes I’ll find the peace my health rejects.

Great callouses have formed and left me tough.

At times, I find they’re simply not enough.

*picture courtesy of Julianza on pixabay.com



For those of you who’ve never been a clown,

it has inherent pleasures you’ve not known.

It’s great I can erase another’s frown,

no matter if he’s young or if he’s grown.

I whip out my balloons and grab my pump,

and blow them up before excited eyes.

I twist away and flip-flop any grump.

My schtick and sculptures seem to mesmerize.

When I arrive it’s smiles all around,

and when I leave they don’t want me to go.

To look at them, you’d think they’d never frowned.

It picks me up if I am feeling low.

Of all the jobs I’ve had as an adult,

the clowning yields the happiest result.

picture courtesy of OpenClips on pixabay.com

My Favorite Rendezvous


I like to keep on dating my own spouse

(maintain romance…we live together now).

We drive a decent distance from our house,

use any time our schedules will allow.

We feel so young whenever we go out.

He sweeps me off my feet another time.

He’ll kiss my cheek and I’ll pretend to pout.

He proves he thinks I’m worth the uphill climb.

Our dates remind us why we tied the knot,

the promises we made so long ago.

My husband’s still the best friend that I’ve got.

He’s still the person I’m most glad to know.

We have these dates to keep our marriage strong.

They validate we’re right where we belong.

*photo courtesy of Stux on pixabay.com

Shadow Play

When standing underneath the moon at full,

my shadow came to rest upon a weed,

and it inspired antics I could pull.

To play a props game, I would then proceed.

Behind my head, in silhouette…a bun,

a fig leaf when it covered up my crotch.

So I would end my day with something fun,

the weed and I performed for none to watch.

A flowery corsage had graced my wrist.

A guinea pig sat poised beside my feet.

Within my lung I grew a nasty cyst.

Fried onion blossom had appeared to eat.

I thought about the game when I had gone.

Tomorrow I should really mow the lawn.

The Waiting Game


When sitting in a waiting room, I dream.

It doesn’t matter what I’m waiting for.

I know that things are never as they seem,

that anyone could open up that door.

I hope that grand adventure waits beyond

and all I have to do is walk on through.

I wish that I had brought my magic wand

so I could go embark on something new.

But even if I just get on a scale

or have to see a person I dislike,

my wild imagination will not fail,

’cause everything makes inspiration strike!

While waiting, I imagine what could be.

My body’s sick. At least my mind is free.

*photo courtesy of TryJimmy on pixabay.com

All Hail the Engineers!

There are such folk who must take things apart,
those men who have to see the inner gears.
To put stuff back together is an art,
a thing, that if I could, would take me years.
The engineers have kept me cool and dry,
invented cars to get from here to there,
accomplishing things I would never try!
Of my vast ignorance, I’m well aware.
I’m glad that handy folk like them exist.
Or otherwise, we’d all lead different lives.
Quite luckily, their help we can enlist,
and from their efforts, our great planet thrives.
So…next time that you see an engineer,
just doff your hat and buy the chap a beer!
picture courtesy of pixabay.com

Road Rage

It makes no difference in which lane I drive.

The one I’m in will be the one that’s slow.

It feels just like I never will arrive.

If I’m too late, I shouldn’t even go.

The cars whoosh by in the left passing lane.

So I move over when I get the chance.

The right lane speeds past, and I go insane.

The lane I’m in just never will advance.

I know that I should find a different route,

a better way to get from here to there.

For now, instead, I come this way and pout.

It feels so good to get worked up and swear.

The strangers who can’t hear me get my wrath

’cause they, caught up in traffic, blocked my path.

Up The Drive

When up the drive my lover’s car does pull,

emerging from his door I see him stand.

The limits of my heart are far past full.

His lunch box and his coat are in his hand.

I run so I can meet him at the door.

I’m always eager for his loving kiss.

He’s everything I want in life and more.

Now in our house, his love I no more miss.

He works all day to give me what he can.

I’m here for him to make his evening right.

I’m ever grateful this is my sweet man.

I’ll sleep embraced by him throughout the night.

And every time his car comes up the drive,

it keeps the love inside my heart alive.

Good Vibrations

i have a strong connection with the earth

when working in my garden everyday

i often witness miracles of birth

and see resplendent colors on display

there is no way to leave things undisturbed

’cause just my very presence leaves its mark

the energy we trade is quite superb

if possible i garden till it’s dark

as humans we have used the land for gain

not just for food or shelter from the cold

i think i should give back at least a grain

before my body tells me i’m too old

i love to feel the ground beneath my feet

and share with plants the sun’s amazing heat

Own It

I was a little teapot growing up.

Still short and stout, my shape is rather round.

When I was twelve, I filled a bra (D-cup).

I thought upon my future and I frowned.

I feared that single life would be my fate,

that I would live my days a lonely Miss.

I always was embarrassed by my weight.

All reassurances I would dismiss.

But as I hit my stride, men came to call.

Yes, even ones who have a bod that kills.

Know being fat is no excuse to bawl.

Just own it! Go unleash some chills and thrills!

Dear…it turns out that men don’t mind the fat…

so just be happy where your body’s at!

Little Ball of Fur

So soft and white, your whiskers and your paws.

How warm and floppy does your body feel.

So painful when they stab my flesh, your claws.

Cry out, you do, when you’re in want of meal.

You lay stretched out and nap beneath the sun,

just soaking up the rays upon the sill.

You climbing into boxes serves as fun.

You make me follow you and do your will.

So worth it all, your faults, I can find none.

And just to worship you is thanks enough.

The best of cats, you are the only one.

Oh, how I love to feel your tongue, so rough.

How those who’d rather dogs be by their side

have missed the pleasure of your kind to bide!


Our laughter is important to the world.

Some levity can save us from our lives.

So, cackle till your toes and hair have curled,

’cause roaring loudly keeps our hearts alive!

Just give an ardent har-dee-har each day,

and welcome chuckling in its many forms.

Howl out, and snort, and titter, come what may.

Then watch in wonder how your day transforms.

I crack-up, crow, and snicker while I can.

I let out peals of laughter, unrestrained.

I brush off gloom with which my day began,

discovering I feel the mirth I feigned.

So start and end each day with a guffaw,

and you’ll be glad, the lighter side, you saw.

If I Could Go Back

When in the frozen corners of my mind,

I see myself, a distant glow of youth,

and I lament the person that I find.

I wish she knew the future and its truth.

So confident that I was young and set

to live my life pursuing what I love,

I knew not that I’d always be in debt,

still owing to myself what I’d dreamed of.

So, every moment I’d make sure would count.

I’d take advantage of my age and health.

I’d relish having problems I could mount.

Of different mem’ries, I’d retain a wealth.

I’m not the first, nor will I be the last,

to wish, in life, I could relive the past.

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