Poetry

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To be perfectly honest, I don’t consider myself much of a poet. I’ll write quirky things, such as Cups and Saucers that I wrote for a rhyming story contest. I didn’t place with this gem, but that’s okay. I had fun trying to do the impossible – writing a complete story in rhyme. The judge’s feedback was that I didn’t have much of a storyline. They weren’t wrong. But the fact is – I tried and I had fun doing it. Writing should be fun – or at least cathartic in some way. I love a good challenge, especially one that’s new to me. I’ve always appreciated a good rhyming story since my childhood love of Dr. Seuss. I also love using spacing and a sparseness of words to tell a story in a creative manner.

Let me know what you think of these poetic attempts. Some are just micro-flash fiction pieces that can be construed as poetry too. Boxed Wine – yet another story without a plot, was a 100 word piece for the romance genre of an NYC Midnight contest. I wrote about my own love story when I met my husband years ago on a tropical island in the Indian Ocean. Feel free to contribute you own poetry or flash fiction pieces in the comments section.

Cups and Saucers

NYC Midnight Rhyming Challenge – Prompt: Drama, Seamstress and a silver lining (Note: Images are from Bra-Ha-Ha Breast Cancer awareness fundraiser)

Rip that seam, tear it out

Ms. Sassan said with a shout

Need four more inches

Stem to stern

For this to fit

That buxom girl

Looking down, I could relate

Double D’s are now my fate

Miss those days of Triple A’s

When I’d leap and bound and… tour jete

Three babes later

Boobs emboldened

Spaghetti straps

No longer hold’em

Wacoal, Soma, Playtex too

Boned and laced in every hue

Pastels offered

When you’re over

A certain size –

Oh, the bother

Sympathetic to her plight

I added fabric with some fight

Elastic canvas in Fuck-me Red

Might enhance this Dolly’s bed

Just cuz she’s busty

Don’t mean she ain’t lusty

Sequins bedazzles …

Libido arises

Sexual beings

Come in all sizes

***

Ms. Sassan stares and makes a guffaw

When she sees what I’ve done

To this rather large bra

“A sparkly slingshot …

for a boulder or two”

She smirks with derision

If she only knew…

This colorful contraption is

A woman’s protection

Time’s may be changing

But, it’s still said…

Lingerie lures

Most men to bed

Right this way, ladies

Armed corsets ahead

There’s more than one way to

Knock-‘em dead

A Swiss Army bra with features galore

Whatever the task, whatever the chore

Hidden beneath the feathers and frills

Will be tools of all kinds…

Imagine the thrills

And for those ladies of a particular shape

I’ll mask the devices within the drape

Of Balconettes and Push-Ups too

Molded and plunging, add a corset Ginzu

Saucers too large, won’t preach to the choir…

Padded foam cups and steel underwire

So bust a move ladies, dance on You Tube

Black eyes no more, from the bounce of boob

Burning bras will no longer be

An act of femme fatality

Model Ta-Ta’s in museums

Lines of people just to see ‘em.

No Gunnysack,

Cheesecloth’s for milk

Show your Courage

In muslin and silk

Only the finest fabrics will do

To create this grand mirage

Satin and chiffon will certainly make

An exquisite decolletage

I sit at my Singer, dreaming away

Of what will become of

My brilliant foray

Ms. Sasson aside, I’ll be the bride

Dexterous in my designing

Hooks and eyes – oh the surprise

Your brassiere’s got a silver lining

Women unite, hold your breasts high

That C cup you’re wearing could save a life

It’ll serve and protect, as humankind should

Tits up young ladies!

What’s under your hood?

Nevermore

Note: This was written for a 100 word micro fiction that was never submitted. I’ve imbedded into another longer short story – Kestral in Waiting.

His fists sink into the warm dough, kneading, like a prayer.

A shimmer of white floats in dust-sprayed rays of morning sun. Lucy, skipping from the henhouse, night clothes mud-spattered, carries a basket of eggs. Looks just like her mama – freckle-faced, golden-haired and lithe. God’s cruelty.

Heart heavy, he pummels the gooey mass, an attempt to numb the nettles pricking his memories.

He wishes Hazel were still here. Never more. Birthing Lucy took her.

She loved his spoonbread. They’d sit on the porch, watching fireflies dance in the dying light, taking bites, butter dripping down their chins.

Never more.

Alpha

This was submitted for 100 word micro-flash Romance with a scope

“Alpha’s back – tree line, three o’clock.”

I spy him through the spotting scope, loping.

Annie – jeweled eyes and strands of golden hair, wind-whipped. She twists the sparkling band belonging to another, with a sad smile.

Summer wolf research with her is perilous. Heart-heavy, a shadow looms…too close.

Mama grizzly seen yesterday walking in the forest, coming fast. Need to alert park service.

Cubs?

Other side of Annie!

Grabbing the scope,

“Bang! Bang!” I yell, to startle.

Bear backs off, time enough to scramble.

Arms around me, honeysuckle hair, those eyes…

“Byron would’ve run. Not you.”

Boxed Wine

100 word Romance – Prompt: Dancing and More

John and Cathy, 1994, Moroni, Comoros Islands

Just yesterday…

The call to prayer thrummed through me, waking and holy. Salt on lips, waves crashing, frangiapani floating on the breeze.

His arms wrapped around me… tongue and teeth nuzzled my ear, trailing. I shivered.

Did I really travel halfway around the world to find him?

We’d dance on the beach, swaying under a gibbous moon. The remnants of boxed wine in our throats and bloodstream, loosened our reserve.

Two boxes, actually.

Twenty-five years later…

We still dance, tripping over children and dogs. No more boxed wine.

I continue to hear the call… dreamlike.

Sacred and binding.