Tag Archives: poetry

Muse•ish•n

note_sincle

I strum my grief

& pluck one-liners

~riffing beats~

as I define

/ a life in leaf /

my story time…

in bits-so-sweet

until decline–

there never was a prelude finer–

worth a sonnet

and a shiner.

Through a reed &

with some weed

I blow my smoke

in piping…

oboes, flutes,

kazoos that toot

to mellow

bellowed griping…

My odes

unload!

My poems

come home!

My villanelles unveiling–

in measured chord

dynamic score

of trial’ing & tre’vailing…

For mortal wounds

the gizmo used

is full on Philharmonic,

no poem

but tome

–a fiction long–

subverts

the hurt to tonic…

As lullabye

may I imply

to me all words

are music

witty, ditty

>even shitty<

can sound pretty

when I choose it.

©Karen Robiscoe

Ask Yourself Directions

where

Whether well

Plumbed Prose

Babble

or

both,

writing is a journey,

a living sketch,

a road map

depicting a series

of →starts→ and .stops.

Winchells donut holes

twists and turns

The amazing ball of twine

switchbacks and stumbles

I C U!

toward the light switch.

Unlike a sketch,

–and in the Dark–

your audience can’t see

the creases in the pieces

you’ve fit together & left behind

cntrl + alt + delete’s changed that forever

and well, White Out’s been around for a while, too.

Hinting at those erased bits–

those shamey throwaways

that shatter a mosaic of self image

elbow-elbow

that keyboard blueprints smooth

nudge-nudge

nasty as pop-up↑pimples

smudge-smudge

spell-checking & tongue-clucking & exploding with homogenization through the White, all write…

denying the Amazing Technicolor Pothole Adventure

erase marks define.

©Karen Robiscoe

Full Body Details

 

By golly

I’m no Lolly

my hands are never gladdened..

by sucking up

~or licking boots~

or phony, toady actions

your ass

>while nice<

will not be kissed,

I like my nose in beige…

and for that itchy back you have

may I suggest a shave

I’d rather offer

poison fruit

than polish any apples…

Pamper’s

damper

–soft soap’s gone

I’ve given my last crapple…

sexy babe

©Karen Robiscoe

 

of Mice & Pens

circus_area

 

the zookeepers in the world worried…

every one of them.

>all 10<

millions of animals

caged for their own safety

while not yet escaped

) not yet )

now comingled in a massive, completely unintended living area.

an area which fell through most bureaucratic gaps.

(even those from the 1800’s)

the circus people worried for these same reasons,

as did hatcheries, as did animal husbands……

& rallying their ranks, the suits swelled,

firing fat, outlawed Cubans

that puffed clouded conjecture into a semblance of legitimacy

like those balloons that appear overhead in comic strips,

as the light bulb that also appears in balloons in comic strips was nowhere nearby

was being retrofitted, in fact, so those stupid zoo animals could see why their steaks were so high—not say—because of the zookeepers’ stake in global, zoo security systems…

Rallying, the suits created laws for grandpa, even though grandpa had kicked the bucket, but

fuck it! The animals were fiercely engaged in detaching, and grandpa had been a fan…

and so they tempted species with particular treats, “species whisperers” for every beast, warning the rest of uncaged Noah’s Ark their brethren gained on them even as they walked and breathed,

would rip them asunder, thereby enticing each animal to the fence,

–not yet within.

and sure there was some infighting, sure there was, but what the zookeepers really feared was a united diaspora

a herd exchanging belly rubs & aches, and picking nits foreign & familiar

Such a heard would realize they far outnumbered the zookeepers and circuses of the world, and if they chose to live free

an elephant

might trample those bars & pens

(cages they paid for! prisons they built!)

— a mouse might.

2¢ by Karen Robiscoe

Point Be

 
 

‘Searched for truth

until eyes blurred

‘swiveled hips

until they burned

‘scratched my pen

until it emptied

–dined on little,

starved on plenty.

Hosted egos

’til it hurt

‘tempted kismet

kismet t→U←rned

‘dove in pools

’til I floated…

>oVer-easy<

dead & bloated.

‘Blazed my trails

until the last

‘mining nuggets

others pass

‘jumping lines

to sweeter paths

loved all in

‘KicKed some aSS.


©Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: bucket list