AUTUMN IN THE CITY

Submitted to Poets United
Poetry Pantry #373
September 30, 2017

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Under the highway overpass, sun browned leaves
 skitter across the pavement and gather about the
cardboard castles of those who call them home.
Their residents seek escape from the real world.
Jaded with empty pleasures, haunted by old regrets
and unfulfilled promises, their stories are as varied
as their faces.

A heartbeat away are the glittering hotels, the valet
parking, and the posh pubs where money and liquor
flow freely … and  the beautiful people seek escape
in other ways. 

****************
the road to escape
disparate byways chosen
a dichotomy

IDIOMATICALLY SPEAKING

Frank has given us SLEEP for the topic at Meet the Bar.
Sleep seems to be the time my brain kicks into high gear.
I close my eyes hopefully, and words, ideas, and images
vie for attention, often in the form of poetry.  They rattle
around my brain endlessly until I turn on the light, reach
for my little bedside journal, and commit them to paper
so I can at last drift off to slumber.   I call them midnight
epiphanies, and what follows is one such, when my midnight
muse suggested I write a poem using exclusively idioms.
It’s actually not about sleep, but a product of the lack thereof!
Forgive me for straying a bit!
Submitted to dVerse
September 28, 2017
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You know what they all say
Little Goody Twoshoes
There’s no fool like an old fool
It’s plain as the nose on your face
You’ve fallen for another pretty face
He’s a two-timing man
Who’s all show and no go
His elevator doesn’t go all the way up
And you’re destined for disaster
If you hitch your wagon to that star
You haven’t the ghost of a chance
For happily ever after
Cut to the chase
And quit while you’re ahead
Better days are coming
Keep a stiff upper lip
Your ship will come in
And you’ll have a horse in the race
Keep your chin up
A new broom sweeps clean
There’s light at the end of the tunnel
And everything’s coming up roses
Nothing ventured, nothing gained
But look before you leap
And err on the side of caution
A good man is hard to find
But slow and steady wins the race
All’s well that ends well
And soon you’ll be happy as a pig in mud

A PRAYER

Midweek Motif  challenge topic this week
Is “Rise Up”.  Pause for thought.
Submitted to Poets United
September 27, 2017
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Sometimes in order to rise up
We need a dose of wise up
There are lessons to be learned

From trials and tribulations
The spiteful confabulations
And good intentions spurned

Were it not for times of trial
We’d be lost in self denial
When the good times have returned.

Lord,  send me a reminder
To remember to be kinder
And be grateful for the many lessons learned.

AMYTHEST

It's Poetics Tuesday, and Lillian has asked
us to feature our birthstone in our poem.  I've
added a haiku.
Submitted to dVerse
September 26, 2017
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Ancient Greeks wore amythest and carved drinking 

vessels from it, in belief  that it would prevent 

intoxication.   So far it’s worked quite well for me.  

I have no proclivity for intoxicants.   I prefer the 

natural high of skies at dusk threaded with violet 

shades of amythest and cerulean blues, streaked 

with sun-faded gold.   I can get intoxicated by the 

fragrance of lavender and lilacs by the old yard gate, 

got giddy from stealing warm sun-ripened purple 

grapes on the vine by my mother’s clothes line.  

I can drink of the sight of violets planted long ago 

growing still by an old abandoned house.   An 

Aquarian, my best environment is said to be in 

a gathering of people exchanging ideas.  

Looks like I’m in the right place.

*************

Born in winter

Savoring summer sunshine

Happy in autumn

SPICE OF LIFE

It’s Quadrille time at dVerse, and
Mish requests we feature the word
Spice, as always 44 words not including
the title.
Submitted to dVerse
September, 2017
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Life's variety

Enhancing satiety
Spice makes our life worthwhile
A dash of curry
When in a hurry
Causes diners to smile  
Rosemary and cardoman
Nutmeg and cinnamon
Add to rank and file
Last of all thyme
Spices up my rhyme
Taking care of chyle

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Chyle:  A digestive agent

MY LAST $20

Idle thoughts on a sunny Sunday, when
asked what I'd do with my  last $20.
Submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry #372
September 24, 2017

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Ten things I’d do with my last $20
Me, the girl who’s always had plenty?
I learned well at my mother’s knee
To beware of the careless spending spree.
I’m not the trendiest girl on the block
But I’ve a bit more hidden in a well worn sock.

I’d need pen and paper so I could write
And something to read when it got to be night
I’d want a mu-mu, loose and flowing
I won’t wear a bra where I’m going.

I’ll gather my kids and we’ll head for the farm    
The one safe place, free from harm.
I’ll take along some packets of seeds
We’ll grow enough to meet our needs.

We may be down to our very last dime
But we’ll be living in a simpler time.
No electronic tethers, which some will think odd
But we’ll have time again to talk to God.

We’ll breathe fresh air, and dance in the sun
And count our blessings when day is done.
“They sure don’t have much”, some will say
But, then, what good is money anyway?

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COUNTRY GIRL

It’s Open Link night, and I’ve a poem about
being a farm girl in the city.
Submitted to dVerse Open Link #204
September 20, 2017
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I love the old ways and sayings
I’m a country girl at heart
But there are some modern conveniences
With which I couldn’t part

I love it when my garage door
Flies open when I appear.
I wouldn’t have much patience
Getting out in the cold, I fear

I wouldn’t want to have to
Iron each shirt and dress
I always extol the virtues
Of polyester and permanent press

I love my old-time fireplace
It makes me feel so good
But I guess I wouldn’t like it
If I had to chop the wood

My trips to the supermarket
Are a daily event, it seems
I’m sure I’d have to think twice
It I had to hitch up the team

It’s so nice to go to my kitchen
And find milk and eggs right there
I guess it wouldn’t be my forte’
For the hen and the cow to care

Oh, how I love my shower
I enjoy my nightly scrub
I wouldn’t want to exchange it
For carrying water to fill the tub

I adore my coffee grinder
And my stone crock is so pretty to see
But those things are just to look upon
And not to be used by me

I dream of moonlight sleigh rides
In a one horse open sleigh
But, once I arrived at my nice warm house
Who’d feed the horse his hay

I remember the calls of nature
That required a dash down the path
There’s no way I want to go back to that
And give up my nice warm bath

I guess I just like to read stories
Of how it used to be
In my heart, I think I’m country
But I’m as city as I can be
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