He was the
bee’s knees
(He was dreamy)
He was g’natty
(he dressed sharp)
He was fly
(he was handsome)
. . .
maybe that’s why
he bugged me so
much.
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Still–I am
April 2, 2017 
Comments Off on Still–I am
I’ve shuttered up
–finely—
put a sock in it
–a 1,2 punch line
resembling a close line,
and floored
–find ground
steady as she goes,
the last stage
of me
(myself)
and why
–and other mutant platitudes–
in keeping
with my transmutation.
prompt: pause
the Mom meter
March 28, 2017 Comments Off on the Mom meter
I’m not the one,
to cluck a tongue,
if you say you’re sick. . .
I’ll turn and run!
(since sick ain’t fun)
I’ll hit those bricks so quick. . .
I’m not your
“aww” dience
(I’m not)
the one to bring you soup. . .
if brow is hot,
too bad I’ve got,
better things to do. . .
so suck it up,
and sweat it out,
and do it on your own. . .
don’t breathe
on me!
don’t sneeze
(take C)
and for God’s sake
–stay at home!
prompt: elixir
Otherwise–it’s Ordinary
March 24, 2017 Comments Off on Otherwise–it’s Ordinary
every poet
needs a
Moose. . .
a stampeding
Winkle
to Rip
lid
from the
Bull.
every writer
needs a
Mouse. . .
–a pen pal
that clicks
just like a regular pen
–off and on–
guaranteeing
electrifying
output.
every wordsmith
needs a
Moos. . .
since having cows
is part of
it
–a process
of moon jumps
that define
bovine inspiration.
every artiste
needs a Maws. . .
a >^^<
that couldn’t
curse her
–note extraneous
“e”
(for electronic)
ubiquitous
hitchhiker.
End Trophy
March 23, 2017 Comments Off on End Trophy
Over
coming
the
tic
in
addiction,
the
rot
in
neurotic,
and
the
itch
in
chaotic
–is no easy task.
But
worth
pursuing.
prompt: symptom
New? Close!
March 20, 2017 Comments Off on New? Close!
–lost the
lever from my clever,
lately missing
latch to pull,
–tossed
ideally
from my dealie
and I no longer cull,
any
insight
–and sh*t!
out write
now my sentences are dull…
trying
boldness,
for this oldness,
til’ half
empty
is half-full.
prompt: label
Out of Style
March 20, 2017 Comments Off on Out of Style
a barker at market
marketing parkas
told me to park it
beneath his marquee…
Remarking my burqa
was yesterday’s jerkin
and hurtin’ for certain
the way I’m perceived…
Shaking out tunic
in shaking down movement
he barked that most sheiks
are taken with frayed
–fringes and edges
as long as alleged
unraveling hems
are finest of suede…
Then trading my jacket
in bartering racket
before I could counter
my coat was replaced,
by fast talking honcho
hawking pseudo-suede ponchos
to passing by pawns
showing poor fashion taste.
©Karen Robiscoe
prompt: label
Spin Doctor is In, Doctor
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