Wet snow fell in April.
We brushed it from the truck windows
and slushed our way downtown
talking and laughing, you slowed
for the red light and a wide, white
blindfold of snow slid off the roof and
over the windshield,
as though winter had snuck up behind us,
clasped her cold white hands
in front of our eyes, and
exclaimed “guess who!”
Oh, honey, we know ‘who’,
we were just trying to ignore you.
#112
I
Morning light on snow
My sense of humour fails me
Is it Spring or not?
II
I imagine geese
who just honked in from parts south
shaking their slim heads
III
And the red robin,
perhaps somewhere turning blue.
April morning sigh.
#111
Half of my heart yearns for
high beamed highways,
a map in my lap,
you beside me.
Half of my heart sighs for
candlelit cabins,
a cat on the mat,
you beside me.
Half of my heart and
half of my heart.
The only thing they can
agree on is you.
Half of my heart and
Half of my heart.
All that keeps it from
breaking is you.
#110
Strum and pluck and hammer on jingling
strings ring and jangle on, mingling
melodies lifting, harmonies swell in
surprising falsetto and sweet a’capella,
Lyrical treasure like fresh minted coins
spill for your pleasure, you nod and you join
in the chorus, your toe, with a life of its own
taps out a rhythm your smile starts to grow.
What is this joyous occasion you say?
Live music, live music, come hear it play!
#109
Come close.
Put your ear next to mine.
Can you hear the sound of the ocean?
I can.
I hear waves on a beach I’ll never visit,
gulls on a horizon I’ll never see.
The trick is to not care anymore.
To let it trickle away
like the sand pulled backwards
by the surf.
Come close.
Put your ear next to mine and sigh.
I showed you my ocean,
now you show me yours.
#108
I’ll anagram most anything from spam to poems it seems.
the challenge unimaginably galvanising teems
with discipline distilling gems, sublime equals absurd
watch well for likely matches, verse and spillikins of words
paraphrase synonymity, explore the syllabary
wondering what’s cached within the language library
flawlessly stow letters, web the rhythm, glibly winning
the sudden nice advance by the shuddering final inning
why do we blog quirky poems with messages obscure
spanning and inciting a re-verse subculture?
#107
This was a challenge to myself! I wanted to anagram a poem so I started with “The Scathing Nausic Lingle”, my nonsense poem of the day before yesterday and anagrammed it into the poem above. Thanks for inviting me to www.anagrammy.com Tony. I know I’m going to have fun over there!
You are what you hate
how and why you hate
where, who, and when you hate.
Hate being the prison
You are what you love
how and why you love
where, who, and when you love.
Love being the key.
You are what you imagine
how and why you imagine
where, who, and when you imagine
imagination being the horizon.
Take the key.
Open the prison.
Head for the horizon.
You are what you do.
#106
Punce a time whilst scambling
along a wendling way,
warbling nausic lingles
To parse the rhyme of day
I slivvied in a squishel
emprattling my pride
while splatlets on my nattiness
bumbled up my stride.
My peekers angled sighways
“Who bungled me?” I bay.
“Who skid this risky squishel
along my wendling way?”
T’was sillig for a second
then a brachy voice interth
“Your nausic lingles scathe me
gerroff and wendle firth.”
“Who peaches me” I gargle
“Who pratts my nausic lingles?”
but never nother slight was slewn
Twixt bramblers and bingles.
#105
“with apologies to Lewis Carroll…”
The Scathing Nausic Lingle – Part II
Within every meeting are sown seeds of parting.
Hi echoes goodbye.
Rot follows ivy as
hobbled humanity (yes, us) flees time
although accidents happen with every eccentric tick
of a clock have hope,
you’ll cry,
but eventually you’ll be happy.
Spamagram: Below lurks the bizarre spam message that I anagrammed into the poem above.
“Even though you’re any of the lucky enough choices, it comes evidently, although capture the fancy with the certain coveted by ly folks other valuable you you meet may possibly possibly well have hard times this specific problem. pre owned awnings”
#104
Like a willful child,
sleep pouts and stalls for a more
inconvenient time.
#103
Linda Studley 