Tag Archives: verse

5 Minutes on the Clock

money_money

the daily prompt

you crack me up

asking if we’d work

an’ stuff

if money

was an issue moot

I swear to God

you’re just too cute!

what is it

we do each day

if not labor?

it ain’t play!

cropping pictures

punching say

filling web up

AOK

as last time that

my rabbit ears

appeared

they

popped

from

my arrears

and humorous

as that appears

this sphere ain’t why

my bank-drafts clear.

I’d work for free

is what’s germane

a higher calling

bears my name

desire

to discover

same

& learning

truth of Living game.

©Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: if $ didn’t matter

 

MagicK of Hoo-Ville

barn_owl_1an owl

came to me this night

a portent, he

I knew on sight

at end of loam

in deep twilight

in magicK gloam

en*vision bright

on silent wing

did bird alight

drawing wings

as I drew breath

murmuring

a thanks for bless

determining

what ranks as less

as sentinel above observed

a pray in pause

and knew my words

soundless

groundless

sentry eyes

followed mine

en’raptored sign

confirming that my

Ken of Souls

is legacy

is

~shore

&

sheol~

©Karen R. 

No Guts, No Glory

 

the wind shudders breath

sinuses weigh like clouds

gravel nails flay palms

–for the hearts–

and a cumulus of tears

bitchslaps its stratum:

–condensed sadness

–recycled faith

–evaporated belief

a striped embroidery

of furled hope

*plus asterisks*

that still runs up the flagpoles,

most mornings

–partly, at least–

shoddy workmanship

~factory assembled legs~

& inept handling

catching Old Glory at half-mast.

bw-usa

©Karen Robiscoe

Knee JerX

little_storefrontI went

down to the 5 and 10

bought myself some

ball-point pens

lined my eyes

& papered lids

practiced cursive

eyelashes…

thinking less

I thought-less, too

tried some Peeps

in aqua-blue

fluffy insides

used for glue

amended Hallmark

cards too sweet

appended chicken marks

with feet

(then ended up with 5 for 3)

moVing on

I counted change

Sparkletts flat

was still in range

re-versed like whine

with Sharpie markers

I paid full-price

for swag in Parka.

Karen Robiscoe.

Pastiche

backstage

impressive

the possible uses

for pass

-the passing-

–the passive–

—or impasse that lasts—

an imprecise compass,

plus triple bypass

(I padded that last)

but past-time of puns plasters

passage to vast

–a prodigious cast–

a backstage permission

that doesn’t trespass

encompassing

passels of pastors

on grass

(a pasture but raft)

–passing the present

in pick•a•nick bask–

hamper-pack pastries

& pastrami snaX

–some anti-past—

a pastiche

not

practice for

passengers asked,

its tone unsurpassed

un peu de’ bombast 😉

e l a s t i c

&

~spastic~

that password’s

phan-tastic!

capricious & precious–

per plexi-ble

glass.

©Karen Robiscoe

Hind Sight

remixing-emotions

so, listen–

here’s something I can do…

I can remiX

~things~

who knows to what extent, really…
 
It all has to do with branes,

I suppose,

and the multi verses

bubbling there.

In that blackness.

(and shades of grey)

Verses arc, &

–stories—

well, they

~flow~

dynamic, energetic systems

underlying

Most That Is

–and I have a

powerful

lot a’ energy

a powerful lot a’

stories,

too.

Too

bad you have to wait ’til the

.ending.

’til you know…

after Words

to check that

peace meal

but wouldn’t it be great if it worked?

I could do it for you, you know…

remiX things.

©Karen Robiscoe

Armchair Warrior

Charron's Chatter is your source for humorous writing and great fiction

the grave

won’t find me

–ever bind me

pristine to its shroud…

I’ll go all bruised

–and scarred, I choose

to live my life out loud.

My legs off-road

my hands just holds

for fishing poles or Frisbees

my arms reach high

to catch that fly

but chances are it missed me.

Diana’s eye

is mine

when I

fit a bow to shaft

the bull is

→→pierced→→

with eyesight fierce

a vision before draft.

I’m ATV

~with cage~

but

*free*

skip stones–I never roll ’em,

I bike terrain

extreme, but tame

a fearless, try-it, woman.

No way

I’m goin’

taggin’ to’in’

any unused parts

I’ll play my hardest

’til the stardust

claims me

back

to

Art.

©Karen Robiscoe