Easter Day

carve a gourd,

filled with light

like the Lord.

Cutting pines

on the fourth,

crack a fire

–wood,

of course.

Valentine’s

send a clover,

to the Irish

win them over.

day of birth

buy a plot,

stash your candles

save a lot.

Christmas comes

pop a cork,

pray in loo

on high—from floor.

Day of thanks

fry a fish

one that’s lent

borrow dish.

Hallow’s Eve

give out turkey,

salt it first

into jerky.

President’s

–punch a clock

wave white flag

it’s all a crock.

my life was full of

karma bugs,

from my skull cap,

to my Ugghs

–picked ‘em up while sowing fields–

–aided by a turning wheel–

–seeded for a karmic yield–

and though a few

came out in wash,

the rest of ‘em I could not squash.

I swatted some

up in the air,

alas, a lot came

down from there

–falling to the bed I’d made–

–next to which I sometimes prayed–

–petitioning a sunny day–

and since my chickens

roosted there,

I let them be

as Nature’s

fare.

Foregoing swat,

I tried by fist,

throwing down,

but could not squish

–even one when fingers spread–

–casting 3 back at my head–

–index hanging like a thread–

pointing out my

trebled blame,

my harvest

in this karmic game.

And recognizing

game afoot,

I realized to

fight’s no good

–and “going there”, I came around–

–at which point, all bugs came down–

–no longer bane, but new friends found–

a crop of opps

I reaped that day,

on b’itchy back

was karmic pay.

©Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: karma

 
when did

“getting in touch”

(hey, thanks for getting in touch!)

turn into

“reaching out”

?
 
 

(yo, thanks for reaching out!)

missing the grip

and baton relay completely

a swing…

a miss…

and not so fly ball to clinch the game

(shy 5)

is it when names became numbers

?

or when numbers

became contacts

contacts under thumb

elevating screens into go-to’s and

skipping the bridge

(concept!)

entirely.

you’re supposed to look up

aren’t you

making your way,

but if you do,

you’re apt to miss the stone underfoot

wound up

ready

to shatter

your glass slipper

overlook the tar on the

feathers

beach poised to

gum your tread

fowl up

omit the crap left behind

set to coat

your tootsies

brown

end up

between a rock and a hard pace and

in this sense

or that

looking down is really looking up!

as you move forward

a lateral term for ladder and

synonymous with

what’s up…

Ally’s Wonder

took her under

after cottontail

jumped in hole

and fell below

chasing phantom grail

Dorothy Gale

preferred to sail

tornadoes black & white

spinning house

traveled South

killing witch post flight

those British kids

departed grid

via wardrobe’s back

moving coats

led to goats

at least a goat’s top half

and Wendy’s siblings

ceased their quibbling

riding wind like fans

followed leader

the Pan named Peter

to Never Never land.

 
Truth is a parent.

in Mother Nature.

in Father Time.

–in dynamic balance and

querulous coupling at best,

they’re meant to be understood as both—

best pair,

and best of spectrum.

a Sister of Soul—knowing

a renegade Big Brother—watching

this thrown together duo is dependent

contingent on one another,

and so relative

…

wheels in the sky—training

jigsaw peace of imperfection—puzzling

a seesaw—teetering

and you-you

returning…

2 family of stars,

2 hours

4 life,

2 won–

witch familiar is as individual as–

you.

and sure, you may cry: Uncle

(auntie Truth)

but you can’t duck Truth for long

…

the end

an unending end to itself.

©Karen Robiscoe