Tag Archives: poetry

Moon Unit

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTERThe green flash at sunset is rare,

beautiful,

worth squinting to see, especially since

Moon-days dawn

after its green light

and in their nascence, dreams.

Bookcases of sheet music

(the thread count of Sun-day)

exactly 6 days away, now

and equi-distance to the Dark Side

Yet bewitched as the Moon is

by her Star’s brilliance,

The very light that illuminates her sends her off course

spinning Through-days in a lunacy of orbit

rendering

Wends-day elliptically long,

an epic boomerang that guarantees low tide

Thirs-ty for different seas,

Moondays hitchhike through galaxies

of cosmic Sees

(always phonetic, right?)

& tides rise & ebb & pinch.

time Fry-ing against gridded bed of empty tide pools.

Sadder-days for the Moon girl,

missing the Sun.

©Karen Robiscoe

 

 

masQue

 

her face was white

* pure white *

pitted dates where the eyes should be…

feathers grew from her head & shoulders

–cut in the manner of hair–

vestigial wings peaked her interest

& vexed wonder piqued mine

I reached out,

(unmasking her)

kissing that dissatisfied lip…

clown

©K Robiscoe

 

The Human Malady

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER

a standard utility

of human morality

favors humility

a forewarned futility

scans for normality

a proof-less stability

a useless formality

a stab at nobility

a total banality

a wounding motility

its banal totality

a class in puerility

a hostile reality

to foster docility

that leads to fatalities

and tatters tranquility

with utter finality.

©Karen Robiscoe

Poe’s Crows

 

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER

Poe’s crows

have found repose

closer to my heart…

 
 

Write flight

as breath slows

shading light to dark…

 
 

Muse flows

a fine wine

a finish inky blood…

 
 

Death makes

create ache

in seeming endless flood…

 
 

But Crows know

the Muse goes

when her Rider dies…

 
 

Quill stills

but Life will

live in words of scribe.

©Karen Robiscoe

 

Dark Horse

 

They exalt show ponies that place

–the rest excreted as glue

and dog food

and a cherry tree

while Mustangs

–willing exiles–

suffer no examination,

excision

> or excuse<

finding excellence—unspurred.

©Karen Robiscoe

 

Mental Chewing Gum

miss you guys today

Bill the Guy

& Al the Spry–

met Vera and Jasmine…

*On the fly*

 when very high

as high as high has been…

Al was quick

as Jack the Thick

who once was known as Nimble,

till rusted box top

failed to pop

and head-crack made Jack simple…

–Even so–

that hefty blow

served them in good stead…

since Jasmine needed

nimble feet

and both liked active men…

Bill could play

the hoops all day

no Bill was never Bored…

he moved his bike

& grooved his hike

Bill brought a bong to shore…

Al could pack’a

mean backpack

and climb an Alp like bear—

 with Lederhose

and iPod Bose

Al bypassed steppes for stairs!

Vera, too,

had much to do

with everything extreme…

 she dove from planes

 and surfed on trains

no terra firma mien…

Jasmine knit

* a little bit *

but Jasmine was a dancer…

in dress of red

to Grateful Dead

she was a necromancer…

With wicked moves

each time she grooved,

her fingers just like fans…

 dancing jig

with Vera chick

and Vera-table Jazz hands

so when police

enforcing peace

shut them down for noise

Bill the Guy

and Al the spry

had Al-ibi of choice…

©Karen Robiscoe