I like a beach trip.
it’s the only place you are.
Sands duning my eyes…
©Karen Robiscoe
a standard utility
of human morality
favors humility
a forewarned futility
scans for normality
a proof-less stability
a useless formality
a stab at nobility
a total banality
a wounding motility
its banal totality
a class in puerility
a hostile reality
to foster docility
that leads to fatalities
and tatters tranquility
with utter finality.
©Karen Robiscoe
Poe’s crows
have found repose
closer to my heart…
Write flight
as breath slows
shading light to dark…
Muse flows
a fine wine
a finish inky blood…
Death makes
create ache
in seeming endless flood…
But Crows know
the Muse goes
when her Rider dies…
Quill stills
but Life will
live in words of scribe.
©Karen Robiscoe
Bill the Guy
& Al the Spry–
met Vera and Jasmine…
*On the fly*
when very high
as high as high has been…
Al was quick
as Jack the Thick
who once was known as Nimble,
till rusted box top
failed to pop
and head-crack made Jack simple…
–Even so–
that hefty blow
served them in good stead…
since Jasmine needed
nimble feet
and both liked active men…
Bill could play
the hoops all day
no Bill was never Bored…
he moved his bike
& grooved his hike
Bill brought a bong to shore…
Al could pack’a
mean backpack
and climb an Alp like bear—
with Lederhose
and iPod Bose
Al bypassed steppes for stairs!
Vera, too,
had much to do
with everything extreme…
she dove from planes
and surfed on trains
no terra firma mien…
Jasmine knit
* a little bit *
but Jasmine was a dancer…
in dress of red
to Grateful Dead
she was a necromancer…
With wicked moves
each time she grooved,
her fingers just like fans…
dancing jig
with Vera chick
and Vera-table Jazz hands
so when police
enforcing peace
shut them down for noise
Bill the Guy
and Al the spry
had Al-ibi of choice…
©Karen Robiscoe
She waded at a silent shore,
testing brink of now & then
–and whispered wish for sands before
and missing him a life or more
beyond the shoals of why & when,
She waded at a silent shore
as sirens will a sea implore,
on weighted buoy of hope & yen
–and whispered wish for sands before
that any tide, or swearing for
could e’re undo, nor change amend,
She waded at a silent shore
impelled to seek by deepest core,
confusing, fixed phenomenon
–and whispered wish for sands before
for beacon lost atop a moor
that trumped all start & stayed all end
She waded at a silent shore
–and whispered wish for sands before…
©Karen Robiscoe
daily prompt: That’s Amore