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Ponyboy

September 2, 2014 by Charron's Chatter Comments Off on Ponyboy

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRON's CHATTER

it’s B.S.

for P.S.

corralling my day

I’m full-growed

& my load

of books

R a weight

the cool kids

in school sit

grouped in the quad

the stoners

& loners

in the parking lot

the jocks

& the soc’s

& the greasers

out back

the jocks run the bleachers

the greasers—the track

the geeks

practice Greek

& tease you in tones

& the band

lends a hand

with back-up trombone

the queue

to get food

is where I now stand

a-mid-point returned

to where it began

& my Freaky Friday

don’t know where I fit

with teachers

in lounge

or

Breakfast Club mix.

Karen R.

daily prompt: Freaky Friday minus 1 freak

LATELY, POETRY, VERSE
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prisms…

August 31, 2014 by Charron's Chatter Comments Off on prisms…

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER

Introspective

day begins

looking glass

that’s deep within

microscope

to magnify

the passing day

to central

I

but what if

window

redirected

intensity

of light reflection?

opened up

to BreeZe & bEEz

could focus grow

would locus be–

outside-in

& faceted

a sparkling view

& glass-less

lens

would vista change?

would spirit grow?

dropping cloth

on inner show?

It’s hard to see

but maybe so.

Karen R.

daily prompt: the mirror cracked

VERSE
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Hey Diddle Didn’t

August 31, 2014 by Charron's Chatter Comments Off on Hey Diddle Didn’t

#4 in this silly sequence of Never Afters – hope you enjoy it. 🙂

LATELY, VERSE

Projections

August 17, 2014 by Charron's Chatter Comments Off on Projections

 
contact_new
 
so this is how it is

you go for a walk

–a run, if you can–
 
 
 
and

the Fed-ex truck drives by

and you go to wave automatic-like

mouth turning up at the edges, already,

then you remember Leo don’t

drive it no more

–energy pushing outward unmet–

Leo died

from the Cancer

a few months back, and so young, too

–not that young, twelve years older or so–

and your hand drops

–unexpressed—

and it’s a little thing, really, but it’s a thing, all right,

a minus where there used to be a plus.

then the mail guy comes

but it ain’t Big John driving USPS snail or shine

–smart John, too—

for all his wooly whiskers

and gin blossom cheeks

Big John could talk circles around

the Literature,

–sweet John—

but Big John died, too, or maybe he retired, but Big John ain’t

the mail person no more

–and who cares? it’s just mail, but you do a little–

(a lot)

and it adds to the thing that subtracts.

and you go to the café for some coffee

–for company–

the café that hangs all the pictures of the locals

on the walls,

and all your friends, too

but they don’t do that anymore, neither,

–the friends you had MIA–

the spot where

your picture hung

empty, now

–and maybe you are, too, a little–

a faded square of wallpaper the only

reminder

this used to be

your place.

FREE VERSE, VERSE
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The Write Recipe

August 13, 2014 by Charron's Chatter 1 Comment

Eff! This is a full re-post, and not the fencing kind. (en garde!) No, this yellow card is reposted because WP ate this original post, and I wanted to link the publication to the kudo on my new/old HOME pagey-page. An especially good reminder to always back up your work–100%. I do in both HTML coding, and Word Doc–I have every single post ever posted—even the surreal ones. O hello ell! The name’s Kay…;)  Anyway. I totes suggest you do the same, lest you lose yr best. 🙂

Originally published by: SPECTRUM Literary Anthology, CCS @ UCSB, 2007 # CLVIV

 

I seasoned my work–an I amb stew,

with a measure of memory; added two

leaves of Bay that swooned, and cried–

to melt inside

my roiling page.

 

Wrote leaves of Sage to follow,

Its Self-Important Syllables

Too Savory to Swallow

in one gulp

so I ground them into pulp

 

–Chapters.

Diced tender shoots of Time and

threw basted dreams in

 

after

a sprinkling of rhymes.

 

Shook similes and tried it,

tossed images inside it

Added more

metaphors,

 

…and a dash of…

… hesitation…

 

…’four afterthoughts went

streaming in

my steaming combination,

 

I turned it down to low, and next

Stirred and Stirred and left my text

 

as is typically my style.

Dreamt something else a little while.

 

…

But when the odor grew too strong

I was lured before too long

to whisk and sift, my well done word,

 

And while It seemed to be

Overdone In Spots, to me

Absurd

with Purple Prose,

 

–and a trace too much erase–

 

Overall the things I chose

Tasted right in place.

Put a smile on my face.

 

And it thrilled with its frilled bones.

 

The seared slab of life my own

Truth, topped with my bundle of say-

My Book garni,

an elegant finish

to enhance

an Aged Soul.

 

And since my wit had simmered and mellowed for so

Many years

I served it up,

Immediately,

In dishes edged in gold

Full of my tale untold

 

Delicate menus in flowing script

tucked into napkins there,

inviting You to Dinner

with a

Place Card

at each chair.

 

To read more great poetry blending writing with “other activities” click the bolded link to surf Monque Rockliffe’s site and read: Let Rested Soul Magic’s Flame Reignite

 

VERSE
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Mirrors 101

August 10, 2014 by Charron's Chatter Comments Off on Mirrors 101

Alice

eXactly how

she seemed

to be

under tomes

of subterfuge…

if you read ruse

& don’t confuse

the uThink

for thinkShe…

It’s all write

~there~

between the space

of

*instant*

comprehension…

before that pause,

within the clause,

of breathing words

that mention–

sow pure of heart

it seeds the mind!

til Spirits grow

thru kisMet

not knavery

just bravery

impelling sum of writ.

©Karen Robiscoe

FREE VERSE, VERSE
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Soft Cell

July 21, 2014 by Charron's Chatter Comments Off on Soft Cell

star_gazing copy
 
Maybe we are all just part of the Godhead

each one of us—

cells in His body,

the cosmos: His plasmic soup

the planets: His bones

the stars in your eyes: His eyes

all stars, I mean, since He’s built a little differently, I think,
 
 
 

–pulsing with stellar energy & Pearly Gate-orade–

I’ll bet God gets His licks in at the gym!

Maybe His moles are our cancer,

and don’t get me wrong,

moles are lovely—

Marilyn’s & nocturnal, both

(I like ’em anyway, even if they’re more 7-year-scratch than itch, since who’s to gauge beauty, really? Isn’t all Life beautiful? Part of the greater whole, the mole–

part of the Godhead,

but hey,

someone’s got to go.

Cells regenerate to stay dynamic

in all bodies

great and small, and moles are infamously deep cover.

Maybe the Einsteins

Keplers

and Hawkings

are part of the Godhead brain,

and

Van Gogh

and

Mozart

and Debussy…

Dickinson,

Poe

and

Pollack….

maybe they are

part of His

♥

He’art.

©Karen Robiscoe

FREE VERSE, POETRY, VERSE
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