The Rooster In My Coffee

A rooster floats on my coffee

then morphs into hair like Joni’s

in her painting from long ago.

The rooster reappears wearing

a wedding dress and one Roman

sandal with a dangling strap.

The rooster is not chicken.

He leaps from my mug to the

kitchen table and dances.

I’ve not seen pirouettes and

rond de jambes that fine since

the winter Ballerina Jane and I

gambled in a Russian bakery

by night and ached in tall towers

of boredom and bones by day.

Rooster likes my Highland fling.

Is impressed I suffer only three

nicks during my sword dance.

We cavort around the house

until he darts out the back door,

over the cat, under the fence,

and back to the magical mist

he danced from. Gone forever

but always with me in spirit,

especially on mornings like this

when distant lattes crow and

the trees are all playing guitars.

Have a happpy day.

And [edit] wow, I made it to #10 on Mr. Linky this week!!  🙂  🙂

Does dVerse Poetry ROCK, or what??!

xoxo

FYI… those are the front and back covers of Joni’s first record, her own art.

My Enemy — A Poem in 55 words

My enemy rides in a golf cart.

My enemy over-kisses her dog.

My enemy wears strange hats

and flounces around the streets

screaming sour nothings.

My enemy buys diamonds.

My enemy eats cake.

My enemy drives a car I don’t.

My enemy kneels to lay flowers

on his dead brother’s grave.

My enemy calls me to peace.

YESSSSS, I LOVE when a 55 writes itself in 55 seconds. 

Got 55 words of fiction? Post it and let G-Man know.

(Top photo is of Majorca. Never been there, but it looks kinda nice.)

World Peace Hands by Kevin Boulder.

While You’re In A Poetry Mood

While you’re in a poetry mood

drink whiskey from a blue tin cup

and eat up the wagon trail stars.

Let the distant coyotes

of traffic and tax collectors

fade into a song of leaves.

Let your poems leap the tall campfires

you’ve been stoking since you were born.

Let fiddles dance on plates of beans.

Soon enough your toaster will fly

out the window, your tv out the door

and summer out a hole in your sock.

Soon enough a frost of telemarketers

will knock from inside your pantry door

asking where your retirement tea is.

So, let the world know you’re in a poetry mood

and you’re planning to resume the dishes and dust

after you’ve sailed a few more words on the wind.

Got poetry? Love poetry? dVerse is THE place!

Share a poem for Open Link Night. The Mister Linky Frenzy starts each Tuesday at 3:00 EST.

Amazing night sky photo above attrubuted to Mountain Wander.

Funny, The Things You Remember

I just remembered I once had a red velvet blazer

I usually wore with a skyblue calico long ruffled skirt

and an off-white semi-fancy key-hole tee shirt.

Lord only knows what I had on my feet.

Actually, very smart leather sandals until it snowed.

I was 14, and the recent 4-H public-speaking champ

in my age division, snagging Provincials in Fredericton

for my spiel on how CB radios had transformed the world.

Next I leapt up to Maritime level where

I spent a whirlwind whole 4 days in Halifax,

a metropolis of then probably 100,000!!

(I lived 15 miles outside a town of 15,000.)

In Halifax I got to stay in a 3-story hotel!!!

with 50 other public-speaking teen hopefuls.

There I discovered the magic of a disco ball,

the bliss of  hard meringue and learned from

the bread-baking demonstration twins how to

properly eat soup, as taught to them by nuns.

Proud to say I’ve been holding and dipping my

spoon correctly for over 33 years now, thanks to

the bread twins so cute in matching kerchiefs!

The twins won in their demo division,

beating out my hometown Johnny Branch

with his blood-squirting first-aid dummy.

I remember each time a camera

flashed during the twins’ performance

they’d smile, as if possibly their grins

would appear retroactively on film.

Funny, the things you remember.

Anyway, back to my red velvet blazer.

It came from some hand-me-down grab-bag,

and I wore it at the competition in Halifax.

I remember other things from that trip too.

Like, Sheila from P.E.I. puking on the spider

and “Bat Out Of Hell” being THE album.

I could probably tell you more, like how on

the drive home I pretended I wasn’t really

hungry when we stopped for lunch, ordering

only a small fry and water because I was too

proud or too ashamed (or both) to admit I

only had $1.75 spending money left, but no.

I’ll divulge no more of this today, my friend.

I will say my “Breaker-breaker good buddy,

we got a skatin’ rink east of the hole in the wall…”

speech did not win the Maritime competition.

I came in 3rd of 3, losing to a boy who spoke

about the Sable Island ponies, and the grand

winner, who effused from her heart about how

she loved books. Wonder where she is and what

she remembers about Halifax, August 1978.

~~~ end of wanderment..

My niece this past summer in My Hometown…

And her brother, back the lane from Mom & Dad’s red barn and red-roofed house…

As I’ve mentioned, my Irish forepeeps were deeded that land around 1830.

And Nephew on the beach this summer at Mom and Dad’s cottage, about 7 miles from their farm house…

They are both SO cute, and precious. I was not able to get home this summer, but I WILL next.

(Snagged those 3 pix off my sis’ FB page.)

P.S. There are 3 Canadian Maritime provinces…

1. New Brunswick —  capital city Fredericton

2. Nova Scotia — capital city Halifax

3. Prince Edward Island (P.E.I.) — capital city Charlottetown

End of post!!

Jannie

xoxooxxoxo

If There’s A Smell Of Pancakes In The House

If there’s a smell of pancakes in the house

and the chirp of some news commentator

in a room where kittens fandango,

____________

if there’s a sun just pounced over the trees

and twenty-nine bored dogs around the hood

longing for something, anything to happen,

____________

if there’s a lonely coffee pot eager to be

understood and bring another round of

pulsing power to a schoolbus morning,

____________

if there are poets scattered over the planet

rolling down their blog awnings for the day

and scraping the mold off their jpegs,

____________

if there are love letters sitting in mailboxes

for happy postmen and postladies to collect

and deliver to hearts that have sleepwalked,

____________

if there’s a smell of pancakes in the house

and lovers skinny-dipping somewhere,

all’s well in the world and always will be.

Got poetry? Love poetry? dVerse is the poetry place!

Open Link Tuesday goes live weekly at 3:00 EST.

xoxoxxoxooxo

gorgeous mailbox with spring blooms by Photos For Days.