Tag Archives: poetry

Echo, echo, echo (location)

Girl_Runner_shadow

I didn’t feel alone today

the minute I awoke…

It’s just that I lacked company,

so to myself I spoke

–and there’s the rub,

and them’s the breaks,

awaiting some reply–

no voice intoned,

no, just my own,

exhaling in a sigh…

 

I didn’t note

a lack of love,

enough to raise alarm,

no rounded shoulder

~hanging over~

swinging, empty arms,

 

and later on

–I didn’t miss

a second, as I strolled,

deserted shores

no, all the more

grit to chafe my sole…

 

I didn’t wish

to share my dish

when dining then at night,

I washed my plate

no aftertaste

from unexpected bites.

 

I didn’t feel alone today

the minute I awoke…

It’s just that I lacked company

so to myself I spoke.

©Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: “when is the last time you felt alone

…but for a Moor

Swathed in albatross boa,

indenture

(far too young)

&

–missing anchor—

I drift

Neither weighted down,

nor grounded—

I strand

(eventually)

.

Nowhere bridge

burning

oil•spill•fierce

behind

me~

fireball

©Karen Robiscoe

 

…on a Crutch

 

My Uncarved block is scored with ruts

just like my 8 fold path,

My Dharma wheel has popped its nuts,

Its inner tube gone flat…

My Star of David wanes its wax,

and cross is in the shop…

My Yang and Yin completely black,

since Buddha Belly-flopped.

My rosary is thick with thorns!

and chalice full’a brine,

My Eucharist is stale, and pour—

fermented 2 buck wine…

 

©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

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

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