Tag Archives: poetry

Green Room

December 31, 2013 by Charron's Chatter 14 Comments

 
 

Karen Robiscoe dba Charron's Chatter

I waved to a surfer

surfing a wave

slicing the face

he faced me and gave

the slyest of smiles

and dropped to the right

riding the lip

curling his whites

skimming the curl

crashing the sand

sanding the board

with wax in in his hand

trim like a pro, he

tip-toed his tootsies

to nose he did go

going for footsies

toting a ten-year-old

doggie named Moe

the mo’ that I watched

the longer they rode

till rode stick was suddenly

 paddleboard show

and paddling out

to board for a trip

my bathing suit bottom

caught on wood ship

and wouldn’t you know it

on ship cotton ripped, and

yelling that word

replacing the ‘p’

I mooned doggy tandem

& tanned all of me.

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARRONs CHATTER

©Karen Robiscoe

 
 

POETRY
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Boxing Day

December 30, 2013 by Charron's Chatter 2 Comments

 
moving_floor
 
this is how death is:

the year steals a person away.

A person loved now dead

dies all that year

an especially macabre, extended party

and entirely unplanned, but that’s how death is.
 
 
 
 
Reverse “birthday week”

each days marks a day closer to a day they weren’t there at all.

Erasing them by holiday,

and by season.

By habit,

and by dynamic.

By olfactory,

and by audio.

By everything!

and by nothing,

(it just stales)

until bye and bye

it turns…

Seemingly just like that

(the mundane continuity an abomination)

a ball drops

and a heart well and truly breaks, and

> never at any point <

in that next year

will the one lost

*still be okay*

(still time!)

and that’s how realization sets in,

and that’s how loss resounds,

and that’s how death is.

©Karen Robiscoe

 

FREE VERSE

Saint Walmart

December 7, 2013 by Charron's Chatter 12 Comments

 
 

The holidays

are special times

marked by special Spirits,

but less appears

in literature

concerning the austerer

—imps and sprites

that tried for right

to wish you Christmas tidings…

Why, night before

I heard the lore

of Spirits now in hiding…

 
 

Take good Saint Knock

who’s deep in hock

since losing out to Nick’las

to stocking stuff

because he suffers

phobias ridic’lous…

Afraid of crawl—

–spaces–all–

(and name due to his jitters)

Knock dropped the Claus

—and gifts on lawn.

since knocking didn’t get it.

 
 

And reindeer Rudy’s

attitude toward

—booty got him booted,

as kissing rear

was nowhere near

where Santa’s sleigh was rout-ed…

And while he fawned

and flattered hard

he never got an offer,

’cause noses brown

can’t light a town

quite like a red-light topper.

 
 

And what about

the unemployed

who tried to work the season?

At North Pole Inc.

they made a stink

but cited corporate reasons…

Then implementing

ways of vetting

toy & tech designers,

height code insured

their workers were

elves…or else in China.

 
 

But never fear

most Christmas cheer’s

on layaway at Walmart…

A corporation

that killed our nation

’cause shoppers aren’t that smart.

Since one-off elves

like one-off shelves

and anything that’s BOGO…

It’s not so hard

to disregard

the “made in China” logo.

Karen Robiscoe dba CHARONs CHATTER

©K. Robiscoe

 
 

POETRY
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