Tag Archives: free verse

Legume-Ade: 5 ¢

peanuts

The Peanuts gang

was kinda nuts…

no doubt about it,

no ifs or buts–

–had issues, tissues

couldn’t clean,

just think of

Pig Pen’s constant mien.

peanuts

That kid was filthy!

(trailer trash)

parents poor,

and strapped for cash—

no running water

where he dwelled,

a sty in eye–

a guy who smelled.

peanutsConsider next

the Linus fellow,

toted blanket

–belly yellow,

and educated though

he was–

he covered this,

in flannel fuzz.

peanutsIt’s sure his sister

was no help,

in ridding bro’

of pilly pelt,

that Lucy chick

was thwarted, really,

aborting field goals

willy-nilly.

peanuts

Casting Charles

as chump anointed,

to crash to grass

at kick-off point,

and play the fool

–a role he knew

at school that red-head,

dissed him, too.

peanutsNot Patty—sweet

she was on Chuck,

ostensibly

‘cause WTF?

was up with “Sir”

and gravelled tone–

–no candy cane

to call her own.

peanutsYes, only mutt

lived high on hog,

a Woodstock fan

–was rockin’ dog.

Painting worlds

and flying loops,

’round Baron Red

did beagle: Snoops.

©Karen Robiscoe

Not just an Emogee, anymore…

true-heart
 
f*cking HMO’s…

They botched my heart surgery–

playing some kinda game of Operation,

but maybe that MO is SOP

Huh

relocated that ticker to my sleeve—

the buzzer went off

an error I lived with some 20 (odd) years

and only when it grew through

my sleeve

–my wool sleeve, wink-wink—

was it deemed necessary to excise it, but

I wasn’t worried!

as my brain had been amputated long since

right along with my knock-knockers

funny bone

and backbone

discs refurbished CD RAM

and while my Achilles Heel was severed in the process, it proved a non-starter since it was a little late for that type of improvement.

transition heal thyself

S’awkward for me, now though. Totin’ that bleeding heart around onna plate.

(gold-plate)

I have to be especially vigilant.

I practically live at Super Cuts.

Keep that that sucker locked up, ‘cause you know…

I wouldn’t want it to be stolen.

©Karen Robiscoe

Gard~en~twine

duck_rabbit
 
in the energy field of all that is

we are crop circles

shaping humans

the same as clouds scud sky

I see a horsie!
 
 
by miraculous manicure

–it looks like a duck to me

clever clipping

it all comes down to math

primordial pruning

a strawberry landscape from

Jesus Scissorhands

ink–is the Word that comes next…

His tractor rigged with surf racks

(4)

Deere John Baptist

who boogie-boards his perceptions nearby

a cosmic sea cresting & crashing

hedging

foam into form

that best resembles Einstein’s silhouette,

each harvest

contingent on conditional

fallow or fortified

energy.

©Karen Robiscoe

and the Kitchen Sync

note_sincle
 
He is Georgia

on my mind

the one near Russia

dba Graceland,

the tourist attraction Graceland

the Mississippi,

log-jammed

West Virginia

Rocky Mountains to scale

and hey, I’m a globe trotter–

he’s England & Paris, too,

run riot

He is the desert

and the reason the desert exists

and the Cee

a big splash

the stars

the asterisks kind

and the sun

and everything under it…

the mUse

reams of parchment

and the music

sorry, Casey!

He is the rapids of

Crazy River

up ↑ stream

black water.

©Karen Robiscoe

wordpress daily prompt: soul-mate

 

Timbre

lumberjack
covering licorice

whip lashes

‘neath a

(mo)
 
 
hair shirt,

I

waterboard

champers,

its evanescence

unobserved

in my

blackout

Google glass

(es)

and like a felled tree

–ingredients for circulars–

these unremarked bubbles

pop without sound…

©Karen Robiscoe

Archi-texture

house_on_hill_street
the Walls have ears–

from the

-eaves

–dropping

—down,
 
to the

shut her up.

But don’t take my word for it….

raise the roof,

&

see for yourself.

©Karen Robiscoe

 

 

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