Van Gogh sliced & diced his ear to prove a point (a razor sharp point) to his fellow artist Gauguin. An act that proved ultimately–

irrelevant.
Van Gogh sliced & diced his ear to prove a point (a razor sharp point) to his fellow artist Gauguin. An act that proved ultimately–

irrelevant.

You’re so square
you think
inside the box
(Big Brother soo approves)
–hell you carry it with you
that manmade shape
that shapes you
into edges and corners
hard to see around,
but is that natural?
is man?
(kind of)
it’s a banner epoch to be a mugger,
is all I’m saying
. . .
it’s better to be uneven
(I’ll level with you)
to be irregular…
(f*ck regulations)
Be a flying elephant
(Stupid!)
now those are some interesting
ears.

If I could clone myself
~I would~
to
me,
myself ,
&
I…
a trinity
affinity
–1 shy
–1 high
–1 spry.
The bashful me
would write the dream!
And dream up what I write…
Safely tucked,
away from stuff,
annotating life…
The loaded me
would make headlines!
To augment lines in head…
Fully charged,
& livin’ large,
steppin’ off the edge…
The nimble me
would walk the wire
between this
pair o’ dox…
impressive feet
from number 3
–a Rebel without Socks.
©Karen Robiscoe
daily prompt: clone your own
I never want to miss
the now
nor second stroke of lightning
not boiling pots
not mindful thoughts
nor goals met quite untimely
If that were so
I’d rather go
to Never-lands more likely
I never want to challenge death
nor wait upon tomorrow
no ducking love
nor bridesmaid gloves
nor lending things to borrow
if that were state
I’d pack suitcase
and never know such sorrow
Yes, “never” word’s
a bitch, I’ve heard
a gauntlet said not traveled
since “never” prate
seduces fate
and Nature wins most gambles
in future then
be wary when
the never word is babbled.
Karen Robiscoe
prompt: never say never
idioms used–or–Where’s Waldo:
Now or never
Lightning never strikes twice
A watched pot never boils
never mind
Better late than never
Never-never land
Never say die
Tomorrow never comes
Tis better to have loved & lost than never to have loved at all
Always a bridesmaid, never a bride
Never a lender or borrow be
trust your gut
>that little voice<
any time you make
a choice,
since hairs
will only stand on nape,
when the feedback
is innate.
your sense that’s sixth
is intuition
comprising more
than inner frisson
composed of sheets of
fine perceptions
gathered from
untold impression
body language?
sure that’s one
and moues on mug
can start that thrum
add history
of other such
and soon
you’ll have
a flutter-gut.
Yes, Sig Man Freud
conjectured apt:
coincidence
is utter crap
–all accidents
a misconception–
while ESP
is true collection…
of hundreds
maybe thousand
things
assembled from
the outside in.
©Karen Robiscoe
Black & white,
is quite all write,
when penning any verses…
but world sans,
a rainbow band,
is bland and quite accursed.
Yes, light’s destroyed,
in blackest void,
& white –though bright—is empty…
but hue I choose,
to shade unused,
can fill it full of plenty.
By purest chance,
I’ve kept my glance,
the color of first blush…
with rosy specs,
all grey deflects,
surrounding views as flush.
I’m in the pink
–and so is ink–
behind my fuchsia goggles…
my wordy rows,
a different prose,
since world view has toggled.
©Karen Robiscoe
daily prompt: local color

31 flavors
–like 26 letters
just isn’t enough
32’s better
a sure bet
it’s phatter
it makes the
gut flatter!
a cause
and effect
that’s due
to its batter
like swiss cheese
it’s holy
like whiskey
it’s smoky
its tater tot
topping
tastes like gnocchi!
it’s shot through with glitter
and scoops of grey matter
on ninety-ninth purchase
you’ll meet the Mad Hatter
–to wonka the way
through factories of mind
emerging or not
as 33rd kind…
©Karen Robiscoe
daily prompt: the 32nd flavor