Tag Archives: poetry

Between

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER
 
A faerie,

she

dressed in spider silk

and flew by winged heel
 
 
to the Moth Ball

danced for the gloam,

the love of it,

and last Light,

Achilles be damned,

she

–cavorted.

Carried a fair fan

6 to a hand

–and some fan fare

heralded this soft-shoe,

through mudroom,

mushroom,

and first bloom,

she

wore tiny pulsars

only faeries

could see

traced Telling patterns

from beyond the

Dark Rift

on coal-Dusted terrace

rye on why

(faeries ought never drink philosophy)

Torches burned her B side

See-side

and Decide

…a Sideways faerie,

she

practiced Diamond Vision.

©Karen Robiscoe

The Penners

penners

There’s degrees of

songs & singers–

so much, I’ll make a list,

when we’re through

let’s both review

& see what I have missed.

There are those that need

~enhancement~

* auto-tune *

& helping hands,

there are those that

bleed song writers

back-up singers

& their band,

there are those that

feed on scandal

freaky clothes

to scream I’m glam,

& those with

stupid handles

geeky pose

& marriage plans

there are those who

make good money

putting Phony

next to Gram

and those that

belt out covers

of another

band with fans…

But sometimes

there are singers

–be it fella, be it dam–

who sing it acapella

And to them

I give this hand.

Since like a writer

~writing~

acapella is pure voice

no falderal

to song at all

but words!

(My tune of choice)

 

©Karen Robiscoe

Related: Master of Nothing

Empty Horses

troy

 

Why do you stay away

Paris–

 

 

are not my wounds

–deep enough

my love

–pure enough

my devotion

–plain enough?

Long are my years in exile

heavy my heart from waiting

pleasant the poison from

golden bracelet

promising silent succor,

Agamemnon plotted then

but who plots now?

empty horses…

for she is beautiful, Paris,

she is.

but I would make you

~immortal~

 

~K Robiscoe~

Hip Writers

 
 

like a tattoo

this scrawl on a Wall

between you and me is regrettable…

tramp stamp

the Wall I can see, anyway.

(the curse of tramp stamps)

proving ineffectual communication–

–which chance effect

choked my motormouth

* face to face *

hemmed in as I am,

by my own exhaust…

©Karen Robiscoe