Roses are red, Violets are blue

Ever since I was a child I have been writing "roses are red" poems for my mother's birthday, which is today. Her favorite one is from when I was about four or five years old:

violets are blue
roses are red
my mommy has nice hair
on her head

(I was messing with conventional forms even then.)


Here are this year's crop along with an additional one I wrote that wasn't birthday-appropriate. (Of course, it doesn't seem too appropriate to reference a baboon's butt in a poem, either, but that was her favorite one.)

Roses are red
like a male baboon's butt
you're the best mommy
'cause you're a loving nut


Violets are blue
the Roses have said
since the Asters and Mums
have been plucked from the bed


Violets are blue
since the Roses have read
the unfortunate news
that the Lilies are dead

ltv

suitcase full of crazy

A shout out to my friend Bob who impressed upon me the need to write down poetry that comes in the hypnagogic state. Last night as I was falling asleep the title of this poem came to me and I loved it so much I got up and crafted the poem. I polished it up a little bit before posting it here, but mostly this is how it was written last night.


suitcase full of crazy

we’ve all grown weary travellin’
on these gritty different streets
some of us have fancy shoes
but most are on bare feet
we think our destination
is the only place to be
but we’re always where we are
if we’d only look and see
in our quest we drive along
every should or could have been
the what-ifs or the maybes
and the dreams we don’t go in
we pick up bits of crazy
at convenient local stops
or wander down a detour
to find special crazy shops
and when our journey’s slowing
if we’re lucky, towards the end
we stow away our suitcase
and share crazy with our friends

ltv

Quotes and Poetry

There is nothing more demoralizing than a small but adequate income.
- Edmund Wilson


This one I wrote a few weeks ago after watching an episode of House. A TV show I am as addicted to as the main character is to Vicodin.

after the moment

when machines
are turned off
family in a daze
makes their way
past the nurses’ station
an orderly
gently pulls IVs
from sluggish veins
then squeezes a soapy
sponge one last time
before caressing
each part of the body

ltv


I wrote this one during my FloPoSo meeting last Thursday.

Non-Conformist

white plastic picket
lines the myriad
flags and gnomes
the growing collection
of garden paraphernalia
a glaring contrast
to the neatly
kept bushes and annuals
sanctioned by the
condo association

ltv

My Sunday Visitor

This morning as I was succumbing to horrifically bad Hallmark channel movies about single women dating, I noticed that Willow was avidly watching some activity outside my living room window. I was further intrigued by the excited bird noises outside (as opposed to the excited bird-like noises Willow was making). Apparently, a baby bird left the nest a little too soon; as it didn’t seem eager to try flying (although it did relatively well with hopping). The mom kept flying around (bringing it food since it obviously wasn’t going anywhere) and making a fuss whenever anyone walked past it on the ground. I ended up shooing the bird into my neighbor’s protected garden where the likelihood of it getting accidentally stepped on dropped markedly (as compared to the porch steps where it started out).

Here are some photos I snapped:

Lonegoddess' Flickr page