Poem #16 -miss muffett’s response

poem#16
(a response to the spider who frightened Little Miss Muffett)

sometimes one may thinketh thyself alone
so siteth quietly to have a bite-
then suddenly along some other thing
shall come and givest rare a fright-
and push thyself unexpectedly
from thy cushioned perch unto the floor
then in some heated rage
thy come most def undone
and vent with swift and heated pace
a most befitting blow for one-
and swat that thing that didest come
to frighten thyself away-
with satisfaction knowing he’ll not live
to see another day.

Our Miss Brooks

 

Our Miss Brooks goes home at night,
Where the rooms are empty,
The chairs are silent,
There never were any of her own children, and the
Work is never done.

Papers to grade of course and
Dinner to drink. A page of curricular notes for
Admin, required and universally ignored.

This scribbles out on auto-pilot while she
Smashes her mind into silence with
Imbecilic info-tain-news-ish-ment for those
Precious hours before sleep.

For how could she sleep if her mind wasn’t
Numb? What with the national, state, county,
District, city, and neighborhood up in arms
Dictating and decimating her job
Daily it’s a wonder she doesn’t go in
Gibbering with her bra on backwards and
Mismatched shoes.

Our Miss Brooks fights for better pay: something
Commensurate with two degrees, a position of public trust,
Ongoing certification requirements, decades of experience, and
Dozens of fragile lives under her thumb.

At least enough to keep her shit together.

Every time she says so in the lounge,
somebody snorts, “You wish” and stalks out.

She fights. Fights the adults for the kids;
Fights the kids for themselves. They really do need a few skills,
Like it or not.

At home alone, she
Fights herself roiling through
Incomplete housework, distant family, waiting until payday for
Groceries, media vitriol blasting, eight more hours of
Unpaid overtime this week (Idealism went and
Volunteered for the damn committee), and a lurking
Migraine probably triggered by the total weight of her
Social fabric.

Our Miss Brooks goes home at night, but
She doesn’t get her rest.

15. Footprint in the Sand

There’s a footprint on the ground
By the jungle near the sea
It’s ten feet long and two feet wide
People come from everywhere just to see
This giant footprint on the ground
Some say it’s from the time when Giants roamed the earth
And some say it’s from Hanuman, the Warrior Monkey
Who saved the wife of the great god Krishna
For now it remains a mystery and a wonder to see
This Footprint on the Sand
And the story that must end

#12

a list poem

Family

mom and dad

brothers and sisters

aunts and uncles

cousins, grandparents

and more

and those unrelated

special people

friends and others

 

Muscle Cars…

gear head I am

love muscle cars

i do

My Dad would

dragrace in Riverside

we were Colored

in those days

memories of my

Mom looking like

Dorothy Dandridge

in Jackie O glasses

us eating a crusty

hotdog and orange

bottled pop

Uncle Bailey standing by

Momma smoking Kools

sis and bro in tow on his hood

Daddy flying down the strip!

Red,red,yellow,yellow,

pause, GREEN !!!

Roaring engines

mountains of smoke

and the sun setting….

Another Saturday night

Momma had enough

of blown engines

your girls are half blind

Glasses

his dreams

Three little kids and a wife

Muscle cars still turn

my head

vrooom

go

Daddy

go

The Creature (16)

Arctic temperatures

did little to slow

the creature.

 

As the scientist became

thinner, weaker,

ematiciated,

the creature

seemed to grow, embolded.

With gloveless hands

the creature

whipped the dogs pulling the sled.

The creature’s

hideous eyes didn’t water

from the blistering cold.

The creature

leaned to the right

then left

guiding the sled

as much with weight

as with training.

Frostbite fled

the creature,

in fear of muscle tissue

and blood vessels.

 

Skinless,

the creature

peered over his shoulder

and saw his impending capture.

This ice, he thought,

this ice will save me.

14. Tomatoes and such!

Evening time was the best
Tomatoes were ripe and ready
For plucking
Steam them and squash them
Put them into Jars
Don’t let the Children know
That inside each jar is also
A bit of kindness, a dash of smile
A handful of love and tomatoes and such

Loft

The lights would flicker on and off,
The room turned into a loft.

The walls would slip away,
And I would say,
‘Leave me alone to pray.’

To pray that the darkness would go away…

The Caffeinator

I really struggled with this prompt. I don't really know any famous movie characters that well that I can use their typical wordings, without which it's hard to write in that character's voice. I was about to give up and go off-prompt, but then I remembered a visit to a coffee shop in the town I live in Wales, where a female police officer popped her head around the door and produced the folowing scene, very reminiscent of Arnie, so I've used that. This scene relates to the female Terminator in movie 3 of the series. I'm afraid I've not done it as a personna poem but hopefully that's ok :)

The Caffeinator

The street surges against my back
until the doors
part
to yield cappuccino.

Tables full of half term kids,
the steam machine
wheezing like and asthmatic air raid siren.

And the policewoman came in,
in search of something,
leaving like the Terminator,
“I'll pop back later,”

leaving the frothing milk
to breathe again.