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Before the Wind

dancing_skeletons
 
skeletons

(in closets)

or out

–bones just can’t tell–
 
 
how their lives might have been…

if cheekbones

hollowed before

harvest

or bloomed,

if sockets ran rivers

or shone,

if hips

danced or

trudged a lone,

if ribs held hearts

broken

or whole,

if blades

squared

or

bowed,

if heels

dug in

or achille’d

if arms held

or kept at length.

–bones just can’t tell–

the story

behind mortal weaks

of flesh…

©Karen Robiscoe

Unspoken Sparklers

makeup
 
Sometimes a poem needs

to be fresh scrubbed.

needs brushin’, and washin’ and undoin’

Gee…say it ain’t so!

all make up gleaned & cleaned &
 
 
“once upon a times” unclipped.

Pretend pinned to the crown,

upbraiding the hare

pixie dust swept up,

and glitter removed—

well

to the extent one can remove glitter—

basted seems of

alter egos

let out,

metaphors

bade farewell at sics

& seven,

and similes simplified, like,

spittin’ mouthwash Rorschachs,

and it’s a task that lends itself to itself, really…

the puffy allusions work wonderfully well with a little

oil, baby,

wiping away writer’s black without

raccoon,

(banned it!)

&

papers blotting

lip-

stuck on

happy ever after.

mop_and_bucket

©Karen Robiscoe

♥ of g•Old

the 4th page o’ posts..

That Hoover? Dammmmmmm

carpet
 
a Levi’ed Jeanie,

I got on my magic carpet and

floored it,

ripped black shag from atop concrete, and

,,,staples hanging,,,

explored it

(the morass)

the way most stamped tramps, and voodoo dolls did, and I was no exception

(just a different model)

washed in acid,

skinny, and distressed,

with holes I’d made on purpose

> so self a’wear <

and scuffed cuff besides, I sewed this fringe

onto my magic ride as creation

(of it)

allowed

at once aghast

and on E,

to find it tangled in the vacuum

twice

that I’d also thought to bring along.

Can’t Get Car Far Without This

key_silver_beveled

lately, I

never find

my keys outside my car,

smacking brow

then and now

they gleam on seat so far

 
 

–and near

(it seems)

but oh my dear!

I’ve locked them in again…

not once or twice

or even thrice

but four times over, and

 
 

the first two times

I realized,

I’d trapped myself without–

I called a cab

and paid the tab,

then went a different route…

 
 

for second half

of keyless gaffe

I hiked a hitch with strangers,

and picture, please, my

pure delight

to find it was game changer…

 
 

as both these folk

were selfless blokes

and birds, they went

the distance…

taking me,

to house for key

minus fee each instance…

 
 

beyond largesse

the pair was blessed

with dispositions fine…

and though I swear

to have a care–

next time, these trips divined–

 
 

that people can

be thoughtful, and

change their plans for others,

since under skin

the heart within

is sister and is brother.

 
 

©Karen Robiscoe

“who is forgetful” **

daily prompt: “I have always relied on the kindness of strangers”

Special thanks to Michael–“who is as God”–and Katrina–“who is pure” (what their names mean) and as you can see–are exactly what their names mean. Thank you so much, for restoring my faith in humanity…and membership in Triple A. 🙂 🙂 🙂

**a derivative of Katrina actually, so I am “purely” forgetful, though I think purely absent-minded sounds more miss-tickle. Of course, I’ve forgotten why I think this…and what was I saying again?

All Iterate(d)

 
 

anger augers ill, it does,

when happiness can happen…

sadistic sadness

made from madness

tucked in tear-stained napkin.

 
 

kindness fashions kindred, though,

in love the way to live…

meanness meager

begets beleaguer

returning what you give.

 
 

gentle is the genuine,

being beautiful…

strangely strong

sounds softer song

right rings immutable.

©Karen Robiscoe

Broke’n Through

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER
 
I withstood the earthquake

his and her fault lines

with hardly a stumble–

broken knick-knacks…sure
 
 
it was the tsunami that came after

thick with Dresden angel shards

sets and sets

(and sets!)

–blasting Windows and jamm’ing Doors

that s’wept me under.

©Karen Robiscoe