“a wooden puppet”

Written for:  The Twiglets #237 - "a wooden puppet"

On the dance floor
he resembled a wooden puppet.

Children's mouths gaped open,
as the wooden puppet's nose
began to grow.

little boy sketching
his pencil draws sharp angles
a wooden puppet

        There once was a boy carved of wood.
          His craftsman told him he should
                never tell lies.
             If you do, he sighed,
    your nose will protrude; you'd have to wear a hood.

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Stream Dreaming

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille Monday #132
Your poem theme:  Stream  posted by (whimsygizmo)

First, a quote:
In your dream-scheme
of things a stream may
appear.  Listen
for water’s sound
as it flows over stones.  
A streamlet
has a softer tone,
as it is still growing.
Knowing the magical
music of water,
why would you
choose streaming
movies on television?


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Who Wins The Game Of Give And Take?

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2, Prompt #344
Neither a Borrower Nor Lender Be

"We are borrowing and lending. In any machination of these terms, write your poem. We’re looking at a borrow poem, or a lend poem."

If I could borrow
your charisma 
for a day, I would
gauge my success
by the faces I had

In return, I would
agree to lend you
a day's worth of
brains, just so
you could know
what they are.


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The Magician

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #511

Words:  legendary, sky, ring, rekindle, spontaneous, heats,
sparks, rising, future, magic, dress, far

The legendary magician
was the darling of 
audiences, far from
where his star began
to rise.  Wearing
several rings that
glowed ruby red,
and emerald green,
coupled with his dress
of wizardry, he felt 
the sky was his limit.  
Spontaneous discussions 
erupted among his fellow/gal
magicians as to how
his most dangerous
stunts were accomplished.
The magician rekindled
the spark of magic
for many young adults
who, as children, dreamed
of magic in their
future.  Sadly, when
the magician died,
so did all his precious

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Tattered, But Safe

Written for:  Sunday Muse  #170

I am torn and tattered
because I never truly
mattered to little
Susie.  Devil was in
that child.  Even her
parents were wary
of her.  She burned
me, drew symbols
on my face, and left
me here to rot when
the family moved.
I wonder who she is
torturing now.


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Tea and Cupcakes

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers  (posted by Rommy)

Merriam-Webster defines a way station as 1: a station set between principal stations on a line of travel (such as a railroad) 2: an intermediate stopping place.

"Use the idea of a way station as inspiration for your poem."
Raining hard,
had to find shelter.
Tiny shop
up the road
served only tea and cupcakes.


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Absentee Muse

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Who's Your Muse?
(posted by Ingrid)

"The Muse is part of the Classical Tradition in poetry, which dates back over 2000 years to the poetry of Homer and Hesiod in Ancient Greece. This poetry was originally composed as part of an oral tradition, around 800 B.C., before being committed to writing centuries later."

“As you can see above, to speak of a single Muse is inaccurate, as there were in fact a total of nine Muses in the Classical pantheon. Here they are listed with their names and functions:

  • – Calliope (epic poetry)
    – Clio (history)
    – Euterpe (flutes and music)
    – Thalia (comedy and pastoral poetry)
    – Melpomene (tragedy)
    – Terpsichore (dance)
    – Erato (love poetry and lyric poetry)
    – Polyhymnia (sacred poetry)
    – Urania (astronomy)
For this challenge, I would like you to choose your muse. You can do this in any one of the following ways:

Write a poem invoking the Muse, and following in the long-established classical tradition.
Choose one of the nine Classical Muses and write a poem with her particular area of influence in mind (for example, choose Caliope and write a comedic poem)
Write a poem inspired by your own personal muse, whether that be an individual, a place, or anything else which fires your creativity. You can refer to your muse either directly or indirectly, but some form of reference to your muse as a source of inspiration should be included."

I have a substitute Muse
Thalia is on vacation.
The temp is not the same,
sense of humor–lame.
So I'm feeling the Museless blues.

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Regarding Cruelty

Written for:  Go Dog Go Cafe - Tuesday Writing Prompt
(posted by Devereaux and Beth)

"Write a rhyming poem of 4-12 lines using A/B pattern."

Regarding cruel people,
I cannot fathom what
joy they get from being critical.
Do they think they are prime cut?

Perhaps they are uncomfortable
with who they are inside
and so they are contemptible
to those whose inner light they cannot abide.


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“the last word”

Written for:  The Twiglets #236 - "the last word"

Once we had
a Bassett hound,
low to the ground
with stubborn,
steadfast paws. 
Whenever he passed
another dog, both
would bark at each
other, but, Walter
always had to have
the last bark.

Would the last human
left on earth
bother with 
a last word?

he heard the word
while playing baseball with friends–

            A man hailing from Williamsburg
           always had to have the last word.
             In a card game one night
               he got into a fight
   yelled, 'you cheated'.  He got decked and no more was heard.


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The Game

Written for:  Sunday Whirl, Wordle #510

Words:  lead, shed, refrain, dream, space, frame, screen,
        seem, lean, game, recede, chain

The refrain was, it's only a game.
Do not shed any tears if you lose.
Whichever player seems in the lead,
in the next frame, might have no clue.

Lean into your stance.
Do not recede in a dream
or the space will widen between
players, and you'll have to be re-screened

to see if you are properly trained
to participate, to have a chance
at winning the fabulous prize
of gold watch on a chain.

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