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Eden’s Eastside

 

I wanna go

to Cannery Row

ride my Red Pony

~cantering slow~

–Travelin’ with Charley—

a fellow who knows…

Steinbeck, the author

a scribblin’ pro.

 

We’ll meet him

near Eden

just East of idyll–

I’ll sweet talk

and greet him

and ask if he will…

embellish my history

–so run of the mill—

and rewrite my life lines

with his skillful quill…

 

I’ll ply him with Grapes

not Wrathful: fermented!

whatever it takes

’til’ bio’s cemented,

The facts lightly fudged

to proper extent, so

ending reveals

a Pearl of content,

and Zeitgeist disguises

its lack of event.

 

The background

will foreground!

and crises turn pages…

description

encryption

from infant to aged

Yes, John is the man

to record my diction

of life I have lived

a creative non-fiction.

©Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: ghostwriter

Jenga (has left the building)

It was Odd Jenny found herself in Petri’s fishbowl, but whoop, there she was–

shortcomings multiplying like

Rabbits

and everyone knows rabbits can’t swim–

the lacking, lucky paw lacked Web-bing, and was hacked anyway

an equal 2 Bits, you know, and Maps of Bits…

any remaining, luckless paws flaunted as rues

a Hugh•mungous failing–according to Hugh

an e•Greg•ious error–as far as Greg was concerned

though Himself was somewhat poorly hewn, and Greg, well–Greg. Him was so often confused with Crag, what difference did it make if not rappelling?

repellent

and quite Hein•ous (in Heinz-eye) but nevertheless re•Markable to Mark’s mind…

a soon to be he-she, Mark dba Marcia didn’t count

while in Mike’s view–croscopic as it was, Jenny•Jenny was purely pore,

spinstering tails from her own tuff•it as the Odd Miss did…

kinda her wheelhouse

Yes, things were Max•i•mized, and hung upside down

in the Window

–plucked–

(a la Chinatown, to mix references)

when Miss•Odd•Jenny

got whacked by the

boy’s Club.

©Karen Robiscoe

dba Moonlight

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER

Workin’ at clerkin’

a skill that I’d master

an artform

that’s patently

blatently

vaster

than rifling papers

or handling

cash

or picking up phones

as drone paid to answer

FAQs from the masses

at bottom of

“latter”

 
 

I’d climb up

those

r

-u

–n

—g

—-s

like peers that predate me

as fast as I could

but don’t try to rate me

I’d square up with light

in energized weight, flee

mind-numbing work

much sooner than late, see

if Einstein could do it

what might my fate be?

 
 

Else I’d choose

buildin’

to (round out)

my profile

constructin’ the frameworks

and layin’ the tiles

since hammers and nails

are still somewhat vital

and carpentry’s prideful

to take on as title

besides my friend Jesus

could back up my bio.

©Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: second job

La-la-la-la…I can’t hear you

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER

He broke up with Christmas

because he hated

Carol,

who then broke up with Christianity

because she loathed

hymn–

the odious Mel….

with his heavy meddle,

and icky leers….

he

~in turn~

loved everything animated,

teaching her to hate

‘tunes….

though she did

refrain

from noting this.

(an’them so pretty)

Tell me,

wont you

ditty

do her

a disservice?

©Karen Robiscoe

 

Ship Shapes

pointillism fruit

 

I’m fashioning an arc

.kuh.

to ford the gravy sea

–should I find it—

as I’ve bean in the Navy

a while now, endive got to

break away

(from that bunch)
 
 

on account it’s driving me bananas!

(B-A-N-A-N-A-S!)

those nuts raisin hell in

ten huts is cramped & a

state that no longer a-peels…

too many potato–

–I’se  weaving lemongrass

(for my gravy boat)

to rig & reinforce

the hull of it

(it’s berry strong)

shallot leek anyway, d’ya suppose?

if I beet it with cane,

or squash it against the grain,

or cast off only for the rubber duckie to turnip missing?

(AWOL–like me)

just barley I yam certain,

~if at all~

since the carrot

took to make was

stew-pendous!

stone stew-pendous!

and could double as

a

~radish~

(at any point)

and if I’m hungry, why

I’ll celery sail any day of the week.

©Karen Robiscoe
pointillism by Diane Robiscoe