You Might Buy An Antique Majolica Plate Because…

olden lumberjacks
admired it in a shop
window the spring

they eyed bosoms
and other wonders
in a city they later
concluded was just
a farm without hay.

or maybe you’ll buy it
because some hippie
chick once served you
canapes from it, then
danced you through a
summer of kisses your
heart will never forget.

Okay G-Man, I honed a 117-word ramble to those 55 for you and our fellow Flash Fiction Crusaders!!

Blessings to you all.

And enjoy whatever you’re doing, I know I am — selling on eBay, family time, driving to and from gymnastics… ballet and track, watering my flowers and preparing my songs for live shows a few months hence.

xoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxox

And hey — my hair totally looks like a haystack in my new farm header, don’t cha think?!! Love it!

(Majolica plates in photo I sold on eBay last year. But I get to keep the picture!!) 🙂

A Short Poem On Dancing

for some reason
I’ve been picturing you
lately in ’70s leather coats

and just now
in stacked-heel
quality boots

that itch to
get up and dance.
so they do. and

you follow them
with me, all over
the hardwood

floors
of our
hearts

while
we hold
hands.

then
you
kiss
me

and
time
starts.

55 words for The G-Man. Got 55 words of your own? Let Galen know.

FFF55 goes live at 8:00 p.m. MICHIGAN time most every Thursday.

xoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo to all who enter this cyber-poem-portal.

Jazzabelle’s Grandmother

often when the other kids
were searching elsewhere,
jazzabelle’s grandmother

would grab my eyes with
hers and point them to where
the candy was hidden.

once in
a boot, I
remember.

once in a
basket full
of beans.

i wonder why
she took such
a shine to me?

maybe it was all that
ocean in my eyes and all
those songs in my hair?

the way i
danced in
the trees?

i may never know, but i do
recall how her laugh sparkled
up that old tar paper shack

the summers her four beautiful
grand-daughters and i flapped in
and out the screen door all day

like
kitchen
curtains

on a
breeze
bound
for

this poem
with you.

Would YOU like to share a Tuesday poem and read others’ ?

Take care y’all and stay extra-cute, like y’all already are. Okay?

xoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxo

[Edit Thursday evening, Jan. 24th at 10:24 p.m. (Texas Time) — forgot to explain… it was a game to see what kid could find the candy first.  Everybody got a goodie eventually of course, but the lady did tend to favor yours truly from time to time. ] 🙂

And that’s all!!

Have a ball!

🙂

Advice For Writing Thursday Poems

if you go writing a poem on a thursday
be sure to wrap it in seaweed with the healing
powers of mustard and mossy mountain music.

a cabbage roll style wrap is fine.
Or, stickytape your poem inside a shoe box
and roost it in the warming oven of the

wood stove in a swamp woman’s hut.
let the poem sprout for seven sunsets
while the wise woman guides you

through the potions in her big book.
she won’t tell you what to do, as I am,
but she’ll teach you valuable lessons

as pertains to thursday imaginings.
for a friday poem you’ll need a gauze of
old gold bones for your framework,

and an iron fence to swing it on for
three high tides while it simmers for
all your neighbors to enjoy. but…

we’ll cover fridays next half-moon tuesday.
and wednesdays one mystical motherboard monday.
thank you for your poetic consideration.

🙂

Posted for dVerse Poetry’s Open Link Tuesday Festivities.

P.S. Mom and Dad have a stove EXACTLY like that in their kitchen, but theirs is by Elmira Stove Works.

They bought it about 1980 or so, as I recall. A good year.

And this is a good year too!

Thanks for your comments. I’ll be out to your blogs soon, whooohoooo!!!!

xoxoxoxoxoxooxoxxoxooxoxo

On Martha Stewart’s Houseplants

on Martha’s blog i see
ferns of 220 jolt green

and begonia side tables of
maple grown in coastal Maine
under many mystical moons.

her jades look happier
than kids up a tree.

her orchids are
the reason her
canaries sing.

i see she has a painting of
a waterfall, and a noticeable
lack of dust on everything.

she does not seem to have
any trim boards missing.

see how her chairs are
like evening cathedrals,

and her kitchen like
dawn on the sea?

i’ve never been invited
to a dinner party at Martha’s
but if I ever am, let’s go

together, dressed
as butterflies younger

than the first
dance of spring.

A little something for dVerse Poetry Open Link Tuesday.