THOUGHT SALAD

Sunday Muse #140, 2020 ending and Chrissa challenges us for our in-between poems.  My plethora of scattered thoughts seem to fit the year just past, scribbled in my bedside notebook of midnight epiphanies.  Happy New Year!   Submitted December 26, 2020.

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

2020, year in review

what a dreadful, mixed-up stew

tumbling thoughts in a soup tureen

isms and schisms, and in between 

pollywogs, goldfish and carp

the dulcet tones of a distant harp

frosted windows and naked trees

butterflies and honey bees

sound of a jet flight overhead

scrambled words from a book I’ve read

I’d like to meet a chimney sweep

why oh why can’t I get to sleep. 

Mrs. Claus Speaks

Poets and Storytellers #51 Year's End, and I'm sharing an oldie and wishing everyone happy holidays, all safe and well!   We seldom get to hear Mrs. Claus' side of the story. 

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

 ‘Tis the night before Christmas, I’ve just cleaned the house

Now I find Santa’s been drinking, the louse

He’s been into that bottle of Christmas cheer

I’ve been using for cooking since some time last year.

So, now the sleigh’s loaded (and so is he)

There’s nobody left to drive but me

There’s no place to sit except on his lap

And he’s probably lost the blasted map.

Well, giddy-up Prancer, and Blitzen too

We’ve got an important job to do.

Just fly high and fast as in days of yore

We’ll go really fast, so they don’t hear him snore.

We’ll deliver these toys with all possible class

In spite of this tanked-up irresponsible ass.

Who’d have thought when I married my handsome prince

He’d turn into the bum I’ve been living with since.

Rudolph, I thought I could count on you

But I see by your nose you’ve been hitting the brew

Oh, how will I travel this highway of stars

When even NASA can’t find Planet Mars.

I’ m only one woman, but can’t you see

All the boys and girls are counting on me?

Well, here we go fellas, it’s a leap of faith

Pretend you’re up and it’s the last of the eighth.

...I knew we could do it, I just love you guys

In spite of our troubles, you were wonderfully wise

The toys are delivered, we’re almost back

With this besotted tippler, and an empty sack.

With MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT

We rose to the occasion and we did it all right.

He’s beginning to wake up….Oh you lecherous rake!

Not tonight, Santa, I’ve got a headache.

BEWARE

Sunday Muse #138  This should be an ode to all dance-away lovers!  Submitted December 19, 2020

Once you said you loved me,

claimed me for your very own 

now you’ve found another 

and left me here alone 

 I feel so discarded 

thrown out like the trash 

all that’s left of the flame of love 

is bitter, lonely ash 

Once you were my handsome prince

I loved with all my heart 

now I see your true self 

that was hidden from the start 

 I should warn your new love 

your conquests are merely numbered 

conquered and then discarded 

as you go on unencumbered 

You really need a bumper sticker 

to go with your perfect face and hair 

it needs to have but a single word 

and that word is BEWARE!

MANTRA

Oh my!  Line endings.  Me, who only knows precise rhyming lines, is asked to step out of her box.  I have taken a phrase from Mary Oliver's "The Gardener" ... "Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude"  and wandered into where I am lost!  

The little slate reads

"Count Blessing

Choose Happy"

my mantra, my daily reminder

...to recognize if I have experienced

a simple moment of happiness

that might have passed unnoticed with-

out pausing to practice sufficient

time spent in humble gratitude.

,,,to recognize blessings 

are small and simple things

I am grateful 

                 for

                                   enough.

DEJA VU

 Wednesday Scribblings, and we’re asked to consider and/or include the phrase “down in my bones”.  I share a visit to Louisiana many years ago, and an experience that taught me the meaning of déjà vu!   Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United. December 16, 2020

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

Oak Alley.  The travel guide describes it as a grand example of an antebellum plantation.  I stand spellbound, gazing down the alley of majestic ancient oaks leading to the bayou, from which visitors and supplies arrived.  A soft breeze stirs wisps of Spanish moss on the trees, and I feel a chill.  Deep down in my bones I know I’ve stood on this spot before.  On this very spot.  For an instant I seem to see young ladies in elaborate ball gowns and young gentlemen dressed in Confederate uniform grey.  Only for an instant, then the image fades.  I turn and join the tour group as we ascend the steps.  The eerie feeling of familiarity stays with me as we tour the rooms of this relic of pre-Civil War days.  All my life I’d been a skeptic.  No more. 

A GOTHIC TALE

Tuesday Poetics and we're asked to step into the gothic realm.  It's usually far from my wheelhouse, but I'll avvago.  Submitted to dVerse, December 15, 2020  

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

The castle stands silent, foreboding.

Evil dwells here, it’s said

Those who plan to spend the night

Will be found mysteriously dead

Some say it’s the Lady of Darkness

Guarding the castle keep

Fie on those who enter

Now destined for eternal sleep.

None knows what terror comes to pass

Betwixt terrified screams and moans

But morning reveals their fate

In the form of skulls and bones. 

INGLENOOK

Quadrille #128  I love me a fireside inglenook.  It seems to cast a spell and I’m soon lost in fantasy.  I hope you’ll forgive me for some tongue-in-cheek fun.  

Submitted to dVerse, December 14, 2020 

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

                                                                      I’m  settled

                                                                      In Inglenook

toasted feet

absorbing book

wine sweet

flames flickering

sleep o'ertakes

soon dreaming

fantasies ensue

sensuous scheming

strong arms

hot lips

feeling music

swivel hips

seeing myself

Scheherazade

mesmerizing

Greek god

he's enamored

I can tell

I've never

danced so well

(PHONE RINGS)

Can't say more

stopped cold at forty-four