June 27, 2014 
2 Comments
31 flavors
–like 26 letters
just isn’t enough
32’s better
a sure bet
it’s phatter
it makes the
gut flatter!
a cause
and effect
that’s due
to its batter
like swiss cheese
it’s holy
like whiskey
it’s smoky
its tater tot
topping
tastes like gnocchi!
it’s shot through with glitter
and scoops of grey matter
on ninety-ninth purchase
you’ll meet the Mad Hatter
–to wonka the way
through factories of mind
emerging or not
as 33rd kind…
©Karen Robiscoe
daily prompt: the 32nd flavor
June 26, 2014 3 Comments
when it’s time to repose
do you sleep without clothes?
is your doze
one of those
with your bits all exposed?
in the buff
in the raw
so everything shows?
–minus cap
–missing socks
from your tops to your toes?
your torso
disclosed…
your legs
without hose…
your knobbies
your floppies
your knees
and elbows?
who knows
how it goes
when your engine slows
if you’re too hot to handle
or frozen in robes…
June 26, 2014 1 Comment
Al’s exiled
to desert aisles
K’s Halls will Bard no slur
and Nick the Teen
has split the scene
to grind a smokin’ Twerk
See, Margarita’s
beaten feet
–for jeers Maria stays–
with buddy Jauna
those hot chicanas
anglicized their names…
©Karen Robiscoe
June 19, 2014 Comments Off on Sinseer
That truth can be
stranger than fiction’s
a saying
but truth is,
–the truth is–
more often mundane,
a hit-the-snooze
clock to
tick-tock the days
–the laundry,
–the errands,
–the bills that you pay…
the truth is, my couth is
much more intact
than verses I’ve written
more fancy than fact
those starry-eyed stanzas
are my “inner” girl
who loved a boy once
in a whole different world
but truth is, that youth
has grown to her own
1st blush yet in mind
to pen rosy poems
the woman I am
is utterly loyal
+20 years plus+
to the very same
boy
(le)
& truth is, that truth is
(boring)
my cooking job, too
would leave readers snoring
and that’s mostly* why
I wander my mind
to rifle the boxes
the truth left behind.
©Karen Robiscoe
*95%
5% = nunya
June 19, 2014 9 Comments
I wheel back my grocery carts
I give the thank you wave
I’ll hold the door
arriving first
I’d rather share than save
I listen when you speak to me
while tying on your shoes
I empathize
with ventures tried
I might have tried it, too…
I bandage wings
on broken birds
& catch/release for spiders
no cush’
nor smoosh
for scary bugs
residing now outsider.
I compliment
in kind, when praised
my Daddy raised me well
with courtesies
like thanks and please
attached to what I tell
if line is long
I’ll let you pass
I’ll point out spinach’ed teeth
I’ll flick off dust
from shoulders, plus
I’ll tell you, you look chic.
I’m kind
and sweet
and kind of sweet
it’s my essential mind frame
like moss on rock
my heart is chock
–full of love
not mindgames…
©Karen Robiscoe
June 18, 2014 3 Comments
Tupper wears
tacky clothes
his plastic pose
is rigid
a waxen chap
his pay per
rap
for deep freeze nap
predicted
I’d gladly bag
him
for a fag
& flagon
of religion,
a pretzel dipped
in mustard
whipped
to Eucharist
by bishops.
©Karen Robiscoe
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