Three Limericks

A Cure

There once was a lady named Bess
Afflicted with dread PMS.
She gave herself ease,
Ate yogurt and cheese;
(More calcium kept down distress.)
c lovepat press 2009

In Eureka Springs

There was an old hotel, the Crescent
Which housed a ghost, Michael, senescent.
He made my bath water
First colder, then hotter.
My middle-aged skin's now pearlescent!
c lovepat press 2009

Dee Mac Dee

There once was a classmate of mine
Offended that I would drink wine.
"I'm speechless!" he said,
"You're much too well bred."
I pushed him in Lake Norrell's brine.
c lovepat press 2009

VARIATIONS ON A BALLADE PATTERN

Last night I couldn't sleep a wink --
reaction to your call
that she was over with the drink,
the pizza, sons, and all
her helplessness (the gall!)
has kept my spirit from its rest,
so that today I walk the hall
and wish 't were I who'd been your guest.

Why do I worry so, you ask.
"I've told you you're the one.
You think my protestations mask
some silly, willy-nilly fun
to keep your psyche quite undone?
I told you I love you the best;
now of your jealousy be done,
for only you shall be my guest."

(For this ballade to end up whole,
it must include another verse.
French forms--factitious--must cajole
both form and content into terse
but lucid stanzas. I immerse
my jealousy in words to wrest
catharsis from a chafing curse.
Aha! 'tis I who've been the guest.)

For seven years this poem's lain
unfinished in my writer's chest.
But time has exorcized the pain:
you married her, SHE'S been your guest.

c lovepat press 2009

September already?

BLACKBIRDS

While walking at the park today
I came upon this scene:
Some four and twenty blackbirds
had lit upon the green.

The flock was pecking seriously
at something in the ground.
And as I kept my pacing,
I wondered what they'd found.

When I came by the second time,
not one bird was in sight.
Had something in the atmosphere
caused them to leave in fright?

Third lap, I saw a silhouette;
I thought of "Aura Lee."
The birds were perching high atop
a blackened willow tree.

c lovepatpress 2009

Before August 09 is history, some more poems

8.2 - Cinquain & a third

A flock
of noisy geese
fly northward to the pond
just out of sight. One trumpets--in
distress

or else
is insisting
on its own way.
*****
8.5 Haiku

a summer lunch
seed-freckled tomato juice
in the saucer
****

8.10 Senryu

the library
now into speed dating
events
****

8.15 Haiku

first faint purple
of beautyberries
Ides of August
****

8.17 Haiku

mid-August...just now
seeing a Christmas bauble
in the Norfolk pine
****

8.20 Haiku

rain slackens
and roosters quiet down
then a dove calls
****
c lovepatpress 2009

Thunderstorm in progress - a cinquain sequence

At seven-thirty on a summer evening

I sit
out on the porch
under the light to hear
the rain. When I look up again,
it's dark.

The wind
chime clangs. Thunder
shifts north and a power
outage darkens the porch for one
second.

Where is
the lightning bug
that flew in from the rain?
Hopefully hidden in fronds of
a fern.

c lovepatpress 8.18.09

Elegy and Eulogy for a dog that died in our yard

I didn't realize that you'd been killed --
and in my yard, no less,--until the man
who volunteered to mow the lawn in trade
"for any small donation to our church
youth fund," came to the door and said, "I got
it done to edge of yard, then came upon
this yellow lab a'layin' there. I lost
my lunch; I'm goin' home." The young man jerked
his thumb toward edge of yard beyond the pole
(electric pole). I handed him a check
made out to Baptist church where he led youth,
then followed where he gestured. Sure enough,
a full-grown dog lay dead between the road
and grove of sassafras that lines the edge
of our northeastern acre. What to do?

The owner surely'd combed the roadsides, called
his pet by name ("Here, Stella! Biggun! Boy!");
or whistled even. Nothing ... Buzzards? ... No.

And three days passed. By now, the beast began
to smell; the odor unmistakable,
of death. The stench was overpowering.
I had to figure something out. That box
of baking soda -- would it help? I held
my breath and dumped it on the carcass. For
a while it worked, and I could water plants,
weed eat and gather fallen branches. Soon,
the smell returned. This time, I bought some lime
(some pickling lime --would that work just as well?)
and emptied it upon the rotting flesh
that melted under maggot mandibles.

The grass grew higher, hid the animal
from passing traffic. County-road men had
no leave to move it since it wasn't on
the road(!). Today, it's lying still (two ways
of looking at that phrase). More soda's bought
and waiting ... Waiting ... Lessons to be learned?

If there's a next time, push the dog into
the street and call the road department.
c -patlaster 09

A few new, short poems for August

Cinquain
With Dad's
old tools, I wrest
squeaky nails, rusty screws
that held massive rods for ancient
curtains.

Shortie
On Seeing a U-Haul Trailer in the Funeral Home Parking Lot
her final service
son's U-Haul packed with her things
ready to take off

Haiku
opening the screen
both the cat
and the fly exit

Haiku
thunderstorm brews
early morning looking
like late evening

Haiku
rescheduled
ice cream social
rained out yet again