Tag Archives: poetry

the visible spectrum

puzzle_red
 
He sports ink.

*for all he’s not tattooed*

and looks best

in read.
 
–so good

black grows phat on characters

(like him)

green envies his sleeves,

blue changes mind in

breathless contradiction, and

white lies

(if it mussed) but

as for lilac

–b*tch, please!

while

yell’owy

or anger

hues

are unsuited, 2,

despite warm tone, and sunny disposition—

know.

Read is his color

and so much so

it reinvents

the primary

–whether

showy or muted but

never past tell,

you just have to

use

I’s to C

it showcases

his best points

–inside and out–

and

taupe

to

toe

the 27th Letter

abc_blocks

Alpha bet on

arts of letters,

bluffing tough

& leery bettor,

–in a row from A to Z

graphemes kept good company…

met a miss

who crossed his I’s,

dotted T’s

& questioned guise,

–sent him for a loop de loop,

blending series into soup…

out of line

& out of order,

in a stew

& smudging border,

–characters whose P’s & Q’s,

went unguarded, 2 by 2…

but even so

the symbols mixed

forming hearty

synthesis

–since truth is more than what U C,

but meld of your reality.

art of the Meal

curryIf you like the

favor curry

brings to the table,

I have just the recipe for you.

don gloves—kid gloves—

since you’ll want to keep

the too-generic additions

to a minimum

–kneading clean gladhands to

pat backs in the mix

and

ingratiate plenty of shreds

of processed modesty

–artificial or imitation is fine

in any fishbowl

adding cut ups

of butter

–unmelted by mouth

and whipped with

titters simpered in thyme,

along with a dash

of humility

(for color, mostly, so go easy)

before

deglazing with boatloads

–bucketloads in a pinch

of…

ah…

cumen,

–diluted and reduced!

and

exactly

1 c. love.

 

Miss Piggy’s Ears

piggy

To change is a daring.

A test of the will.

It’s tearing–

 

what’s still, repairing

–the built.

To change is a daring.

 

Unburying

tilled; returning to mill.

It’s tearing–

 

the known, & varying

skill.

To change is a daring

 

–of action & bearing–

~of sow into silk~

It’s tearing–

 

unerring,

the ilk, & the guild.

To change is a daring.

It’s tearing.

In case you've forgotten what they look like...:)

check Me…wooOOOooo

It’s been a while since I’ve updated the blog-O-sphere as to my pending publication (shenanigans) so I thought to drop a brief blog–a bloggette, if you will–as to the printed word.

Coming Soon to line bird cages everywhere is the poem (previously noted, but dropping this fair month of September) Talking Shop, published by Main Street Rag, a fine print and digital journal located in the heart of the suburbs. Also coming out this month is poem: wUndergrund published by collegiate journal: Sand Canyon Review.

Accepted–for who it is–is short story: Dr. Hamfist by the interestingly titled: Peachfish Journal, a peachy print and digital publication due out within 2-3 months from this post date. (kinda like a check) A rollicking look at root canals, and oxymorons, I’ll give a nitrous blast when this short is available for purchase.

Accepted by print/digital Checkmate journal is a whopping series of poems–7–which makes me seriously happy. You might say I am in 7th heaven…or at least on Cloud #7. A linked sequence titled: Chessing Game, I will leave it up to your imagination what premise this poetry covers…er…mateys.

Accepted by journal: Blue Crow is my short story titled: PMS Diatribe. The lesser known cousin of the v-Jay-Jay Monologues, this is sure to go well with bonbons, bitch-bitch, and any number of tabloid magazines. Better still, that latter can join the former as the aforementioned bird cage liner! A win-win (win) for all around, and a pending event I will update as the mood strikes me. (Sure to be emotionally charged)

At any rate, so is the lay of the land from my corner of the sphere, and please check back now and again to make sure you don’t miss further update-ery. Happy weekend of Labor, kidZ, and color me outtie.

Back With the Wind

birdee

Once upon a movie, morphing,

into reel and change important

many a disappointing endings I’d seen before

there projecting, plot rewriting, a better line for Rhett—uniting

southern belle and he, despite propensity to be a boor,

To turn on heel and close the door,

To give a damn, and nothing more.

 
 

Succinctly I rephrased, final words to leave unscathed

their Dixie land Union to wedded bliss, and end their war,

Eagerly applied erase—white out, too, to wipe all trace

from the film and so replace—the fallen face that Scarlett wore

the spoiled and crimson maiden whom the populace called a whore,

Nameless here for evermore.

 
 

Hack (I was) to alter script– utterance, by Rhett, the dick

lines the Author chose that left poor Scarlett on the floor,

Retelling and reshaping, endings glad at final taping,

thereby changing, and replacing final sense of great dolor,

to viewers choice, it was no chore,

to regale Wind at least once more.

 
 

By that edit at couple’s parting, I guaranteed a sequel starting,

with counseling and compromise unlike before,

perception checking every time, something irked or someone whined,

teaching them to heed the signs—of discontent the other stored,

to shut their beaks when shutting would restore accord,

Quoth the Rewrite: evermore.

©Karen Poe-biscoe

daily prompt: Inside my favorite movie

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Ark•tick•talk

Charrons Chatter
after hesitation

I paused,

losing or,

I stopped short,

far from harbor

I shipwrecked,

kindling new fire

with the only or left
 
–had it been or right, I’d have used it a’sea—

I divined,

and though the burn melted what

little ice floe remained,

the smoke

~singed~

~signaled~

&

~signed~-

and design I did…

stranded in time that bore no stigmatizing measure.

hearing the silence

I perceived.

a lens of truest sight.