AT

 

Where is it at?

We don't need to say that!

Before I put on my hat

I must take out the cat.

This doesn't make sense,

but neither does ending

a sentence with at.

Male Adjustment

 

I've got to get ready

to go into my job,

But things aren't all set,

They're just a big blob.

 

Move over to the left,

Move over to the right,

a quick little shake

then things aren't too tight.

 

Hike this side up,

jiggle that side down.

If things aren't just so,

my day starts with a frown.

 

One tug right here,

and one tug left there.

Now everything is perfect

in my clean bright underwear.

 

So I'll wiggle each tight cheek

a smidgen at a time

When all is in its prime locale

the world is so sublime.

You Know You’re Older When

 

You think you're getting older when you see the crows feet there

And when you start to see the gray, throughout your golden hair.

You begin to use the wrinkle cream and try new shades of blonde,

And have a sexy man to play with, naked in a pond.

You ignore the aging process and really don't feel your age,

You drive a racy sports car, you friends say it's a stage.

In your mind you're still a babe, and forget the achy knees,

You wear tight pants and t-shirts, turn deaf to teens' embarrassed pleas.

Pretending all you want is fine until you find a gray strand there,

Not upon your golden head, but down amongst your pubic hair.

ROMANCE BOOKS

 

Romance books,

Boy! What looks,

you get when you

read them in public.

Men think you're horny,

women call you corny,

but secretly read them in bed.

The covers have hunks,

no flab, fat or chunks,

unlike spouses who fart

when they kiss you.

The girls with big busts

pale and pretty, bring lusts,

make readers feel incomplete.

The opposite sexes

demand perfect reflexes,

to those acrobats and all nighters I bow.

The wife, mistress, lover,

can be found under cover,

on tables, in kitchens and gardens.

Love, honor and fighting,

men revel in delighting

those women whose charm

they can conquer.

Ah, those great pages

we read through the stages

of love, romance and great passion.

So carry one with you,

try something new,

for romance books

can lead you to ardor.

Unexpected beauty

 

One day we had a peacock show up at our house. He was scraggly, looked like he'd been in a fight and lost; all but about 4 of his long beautiful tail feathers were gone. The ones remaining pathetically bereft of feather material, tips shredded, quills broken.

 

He went to our bird feeding area, supped then walked over to the large planter by our east

windows and nestled in, the breeze fluffing his neck feathers that brightened the day with cobalt blue, greens and golds. He stayed about an hour walking around the house on our circular road, stopping at windows to peer in, as if checking us out. He finally wandered up the road toward our neighbor's house. He showed up the next day, with only 2 tail feathers left, and feasted again with our quail, dove and finches.

 

My mother-in-law read about peacocks on the internet and found they molt, lose their tail feathers once a year. She read they are a part of the pheasant family, would eat cracked corn along with bird food, and they love plants in gardens. While I loved having this beautiful, unexpected guest, I wasn't sure I wanted to share my flower garden with him however he seemed to stay away from the garden pecking at the seed and grain left for our wild friends and eating vegetation that had grown from bird seed leftovers.

 

This peacock has never blessed us with his caw ah, caw ah but honks almost like a goose when he wants more food put out, or when our cat is pestering him. He is not afraid of our vehicles when we drive by him, and he moves just a few feet away whenever we replenish his food. His head and neck move back and forth making a funny clicking sound, I'm not sure if this is a noise he is making in his throat or something coming from his neck bones.

 

The peacock usually visits us during the weekend which is great since the grandkids visit then too, and Eli who is five opens a window and talks to the huge bird. The peacock paces in front of the window, seems to listen, then wanders off as the cat creeps up from behind him, getting ready to pounce for his dinner.

 

Just a few months have passed since the peacock showed up and his tail feathers are growing rapidly, stunning the viewer with deep greens that shimmer in the light and wind. He still has just one ratty looking feather left, it never did fall out, and I wonder if he'll ever lose it.

 

Majesty prevails; tree tops poke out of the foggy dale, the coastal mountain range visible in the distance, hawks and eagles circle and soar, our peacock visits.

What's a Cento?

A Cento is a poem comprised of lines from other poems.
You take several poetry books, turn to random poems
and use lines you like. You may take one or several
lines from each poem.

Try it. They are fun to create.

The Butler a cento

 

What's a year or thirty, to

a hand gathering crumbs off a table?

During the day we walk about

to perform our expertise.

Now, the passage of time, and plenty of it

We're approaching the age, now

there are jobs we cannot do.

If we care for a house

we are happy where we are.

Ah! Then there is hurrying to and fro.