7: Summer Cook

The thunderstorms have been
promised by the radar

Oven at 400
kitchen melts

Languid days rush
away away

Contradiction
contraction

Later the skies close
the world stops starts

hour 7 poem

Wisdom

Something many people look for

Seek and implore

What they believe

Often deceive

 

They think they can find it today

Just on their way

This will not be

Matter the plea

 

With age they may find it within

Behind the din

They surely seek

Wisdom’s critique

 

Ticket to ride

it’s the best one in town.

you’ll get soaked in all of it: the rivers and roads

the friendly townsfolk waving on the bridge as you pass by it

the backstreets that built this nation into what it is today.

it’s a great big world out there and you can see it all from the comfort

of your own seat.

the only downside is when it ends

but then again every ending is just another beginning

Great Grammy G

Celebrating Us – Prompt #6

The corners of my mouth

lift slightly, long before

my eyes sense

the dance of daybreak.

Sweet voices

on my windowsill.

Younger ones

reply, eagerly awaiting

something squirmy

Ground beans releasing

their nutty aroma

Hiss and gurgle

into the pot beneath

Bacon spitting at

potatoes crisping

in a neighboring pan

Long, peaceful stretches,

no angry muscles

Puppy-love licks as

my feet hit the floor

Sweet embrace as I meet

my love at the

boudoir door.

Overnight hunger

banished, we clink

hot creamy mugs

Toasting a day

of celebrating

His eyes

wordlessly, not silently,

tell me he’d do it again,

remembers every detail

Quick, pack the basket

with warm, fudgy brownies,

Colby cubes, grapes, and

strawberries in cream

Water or wine,

whichever you please

– just hurry

We can’t waste

moments like these

A blanket beneath

watching ships on the sea

Sun fading in crimson

over the bay

Snuggling close

ends a perfect day.

 

 

Seasonal Haiku

seasons come and go

giving color, taste, and love

let’s enjoy them all.

@Mejia – Hour Seven

Dinner Day: Prelude to the Guests

24 poems, “The Dinner Party”

Dinner Day: Prelude to the Guests

 

Gladly, the pie has set

and the soups are sleeping

and the exotic spices

are temporarily sleeping

 

first the canapes

in their moody forethought

Then the tagine

a wonderful display, I thought

 

sizzling crackling

and red-hot cast iron pans

a nose-happy bouquet

the odour, the room it pans

 

The goulash slowly simmers

and so too does my excite

all these delicacies in a row

giggling in their anticipation to excite

 

the salads are the final

for the essentially of freshness

textures of sponge and crunch

As I prepare for my own garlicky freshness

DeaBeePea  6-27-20

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem #6: Remotely Kind or Removed

Amicable Aliens landed and were disgusted by what they saw.
Violence.
Cruelty.
Pollution.
And decided to take charge. Immediately.

Zap!
Anyone committing a violent act had to learn 100 happy words and use them repeatedly. If they couldn’t do that they were sent to Rancor of Russia. And never heard from again. If they were already in the Rancor of Russia, rumor has it they went missing.

Zip!
The cruelest acts were often unintended reiterations of past bad behavior. Hypnotherapy was used to free people from the clutches.

Zpp!
Anyone who swore had to do volunteer work such as picking up trash to help make the environment cleaner.
The streets of Manhattan had never been so clean. In Hollywood, you could eat off the freeways. Noise pollution helped fuel all kinds of other pollution and the world got cleaner.

The world still wasn’t perfectly kind, but this was a good start.

#6 Widow Time

The old gals speak of three years

I see them in the cemetery planting geraniums

I need to water mine

 

This in-between happens to those left behind

Change of life that begins when a life ends

There are no hormones at play

 

That first year was boundless

No days of the week or hours of the day

Only the daily reminder that he’s gone

 

Friends asking how you are not waiting to hear

Protecting them you lie and say you’re getting on

Only those who know don’t ask

 

A second year offers routine

Cleaning out, giving away, changing numbers

The business that death offers

 

Now one year to go before another change

The old gals don’t tell what to expect

Trusting them you settle in

 

A new hairdo and maybe remove the ring

Not looking for a replacement

But getting ready to let go again

Inevitable (Brandy Goodman Poem #7)

Inevitable (Brandy Goodman Poem #7)

Some people wail and cry

Others scream and shout

But a writer writes

To get it all out.

But what do you do

When you set pen to page

And every possible emotion

Fights for center stage.

All these warring emotions

Confuse more than the brain

If the muse is all muddled,

Attempts to write are in vain.

So what do you do

To sort through it all

Because holding it in

Will cause and inevitable fall.

How do you push past

The pain and the fear

What are the steps

To get your path clear.

Can you force it out

Without losing control

Or do you let it boil over

Then try to become whole.

Feeling so much at once

Makes you not want to feel at all

But if you go numb

You are bound to fall.