24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
You build no nest
Not anymore
With fancy rooftop canopies
You rest for the night and sometimes the day
But seriously could you please
Find another pooping place
My car is not a public toilet for you and your winged family
So please be considerate
I’m asking nicely
Please and thank you
Find another pooping place
I have found my hairbrush
I have found my favorite shirt
I have found my favorite game
I have found the plug for that thing I sold
I have found how many boxes and bags it takes to move me
I have found that more space is better than less
I have found peace
I have found quiet
I have found my happy place
Dear Neighbour,
Please do stop stealing my paper,
it is quite a crime you commit,
and I do not appreciate such cheeky wit!
And please do stop feeding,
my poor Oscar shredded paper,
dear God, I’m pleading,
he keeps throwing up on my expensive wallpaper!
And while I’m at it, also,
stop letting, your cat into my house, pronto!
For there’s fur all over my bedding!
It’s really, terribly upsetting!
Lots of love,
Your Neighbour from the floor above 🙂
I would like to lie outside all day
on a cool, soft green lawn
near a beautiful, shady tree
under a clear calm crystal~blue sky.
A whispery billowy bluey puff of a cloud
would softly skip over me
as a squirrel or two chased each other
around me.
I would stretch out and kick off my shoes
and close my eyes
and smile
for a long time.
Perhaps I would sigh deeply~
the smell of wildflowers would linger nearby
ever slowly, a rosy glow would spread over me
whilst I thought of you.
I would relax
and I would imagine, and dream
and just be sooo very wonderful inside…
(As long as there weren’t any bugs around)
so everyone wrote
on my facebook page but you
who ignores birthdays
Poem TWENTY-FOUR has been removed and is now posted on chocolate is a verb, 17 August 2016.
The struggle is real
loathing
dreading
anticipating
pushing
but in the end winning
~ism
we were innocent souls
on the corner selling
lemonade for a quarter
handing out kindness
and smiles for free
one afternoon
my three friends and me
we were suppose to
be raising money
for our treehouse
we wanted furniture
and curtains to
adorn the space
so we could sleep
there on the weekends
every Thursday afternoon
we found ourselves
on the corner
with our stand
and our pitcher
cups and cubes
and language of
well spoken licorice
candies – sweet
and innocent and
America’s favorite
The clientele
was always plentiful
although the street
was never too busy
Mr. Winthers across
the street drank most
of the lemonade
when activity slowed
down, and even helped
us get a pretty rug
for our treehouse
came from his late wife’s
estate
we never really had a
care, a worry or a clue
that some of our clients
would do the things
they would do
or at least the one
in particular
on this Thursday
afternoon
pulled up in his car
apparently my friend
knew him, said he was
friends with her father
he ordered 4 lemonades
to go and asked my friend
if she wanted a ride home
we were almost done
so she said yes
we all hugged and kissed
our friend goodbye
and finished our lemonade
stand for the last time
a week had gone by
no word from our friend
her parents unsure
if the torment would end
we never knew the
dangers of trusting those
we had always known
didn’t even doubt
his intentions
didn’t know our friend
would never return home
we decided to still
keep the treehouse in tact
although we knew our friend
was never coming back
but we grew up
that week after we said goodbye
a lemonade stand
now houses a pitcher
of broken lives
FJ original 2016
more than you are now
lives strong that old memory
that i should release
I don’t like bees,
They make me shout,
They make me run when I am out.
They pressure me into staying inside, they make me always run and hide
I don’t like them even though their good,
For the environment and all of the things that they should.
I hate when they bite and when the buzz around,
That’s why in the summer I’m no where to be found.