October 2, 2013 
13 Comments
deserted eyes at night
forget most lamps
synthesizing light
using inner sight
innate to man
deserted eyes at night
know twilight
as Nature can
synthesizing light
in dichotomous rite
divergent from plants
deserted eyes at night
face flux with might
deride it with cant
deserted eyes at night
synthesizing light.
©Karen Robiscoe
Related Posts: Nature’s Secret at Teacher as Transformer
September 29, 2013 9 Comments
Miss Eerie & me
well, it isn’t what you think
that spooky little bitch
only visits when I drink
casting longest shadow
and if the door’s ajar
she’ll wear the face
within that vase
as if a movie star–
a Greta Garbo special
who vants to be alone
yes, Miss Eerie loves company
but likes to set the tone
Miss Deed
and Lead
are welcome guests
and make themselves at home
(they don’t stay long
just toke a bong
and ride a random poem)
So, next time running errands
drop in when you’re done
since crowds of three
find Miss Eerie
put out, and output’s fun!
©Karen Robiscoe
September 22, 2013 15 Comments
I’se write good prose
> heaven knows <
I’se punctuate
somethin’ great…
My brand o’ wise
—sorta flows
like Bordeaux—
fortified
So relate
intoxicates.
I squeeze my eyes
> into rows <
I’se rhymes in time
just innate…
my flights inside fanciful
—bold & bright
like my sleight—
shaded words
just a’waiting
on dictate.
I fluff my sees
> into sow <
I’se writes my wrongs
into gates…
I’ve been through it
—dont’cha know
gonna show—
what I learned
then in turn
prate will actuate my fate.
©Karen Robiscoe
September 19, 2013 12 Comments
no preset room
with whitewashed glass
for poesie blooms
from Dante’s doom
and checkered past
no preset room
but petals strewn
atop morass
for poesie blooms
amid lampoons
of versing class
no preset room
her arching plume
a looking glass
for poesie blooms
resisting prune
of leaf till last
no preset room
for poesie blooms.
©Karen Robiscoe
September 15, 2013 11 Comments
Thinking in terms
of “character” traits
does W envy the V
for her Waist?
since plainly
V Vainly
watches her slants,
the W tried
but W can’t..
And what about M?
does it Make her Mad?
that N’s always Noshing,
but Never gets fat?
as all letters know
M Moder-ates Much,
whatever M “ate”
was Merely enough…
The same goes for B
who’s Bothered by P
’cause B is as Basic
to meals as can B
He Broils
and he Bakes
But Blasted
P Poaches
stealing the Battle
of Bulge
with aPProaches
and gloating–
P Pairs,
and Pigs out
on blankets
wraPPed around aPPs
found
around franks
—It’s no wonder
that speech is
deteriorating!
with such letter envy
and such letter hating!
Clearly impelling
a global truncating
–of petulant words
that need separating,
’til finally one day
we’ll boot acronyms, too
and revert to grunting
as cavemen would do.
©Karen Robiscoe
Check out another riff (or 2) on the alphabet…words…uh, yeah.
September 2, 2013 3 Comments
One sunny morning—
done mourning Sonny,
Dan went to the shore
when it was sure muggy—
mugging a face at heat of the sand,
he sanded a place for feet with his hand…
Handy like dandy, Dan felt a bit bored—
so boarded the surf tied to a cord,
cordoned like Borden prior to trial,
Dan hung all ten piggies with Moondoggie style…
Stylin’—his doggy hung with the pack
down in the shorebreak, total kick back
back at the homestead, Dan kicked off his suit,
suited instead in “Dan be fried” nude…
Applying some tonic to lessen the burn—
burning some chronic to lessen concerns…
Heady as hell, Himself was stoned proper
Dan selfie’d his ass in tone-colored Copper.
©Karen Robiscoe
August 17, 2013 2 Comments
Daggers wound when thrown
—and while I’ve felt them often,
blood seeds are best unsown…
by Haggard I, when hope is flown—
tilt yet the urgent coffin,
daggers wound when thrown…
in Staggered flight! Through plotted stone
—walls, though mine had softened,
blood seeds are best unsown…
then Swagger must its bluff disown
in heart, and without caution,
daggers wound when thrown…
a Blackguard—aye! Toward light I’ve grown
—hard growth—but worth exhaustion,
blood seeds are best unsown…
no Plague need blight my harvest glow
—No bane benight my autumn…
Daggers wound when thrown,
blood seeds are best unsown.
©Karen Robiscoe
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