Jeff Goldblum

I am reminded of one of my Dorian Gray poems in which he expresses the sentiment that San Franciso is a “right raucus old lass”. Well, today I am feeling raucus myself and seeing that a statue of a bare Chested Jeff Goldblum as been erected in London, I couldn’t resist this bit of fluff for today’s Get Listed over at Toad’s. Also, ebony is one of the hardest woods in the world, Ha!Ha!

 

Jeff Golblum
The path to your body
winds hither and yon
until I come upon you –
Your ebony hard member thickened
as you stretch upon the grass.
Your enormity confounds me,
Non-pluses me.
Arouses me.
Excites me.
Your ebony member,
Your gigantic member –
Oh my!
Oh yes!
Oh yes yes yes

I am reminded of one of my Dorian Gray poems in which he expresses the sentiment that San Franciso is a “right raucus old lass”. Well, today I am feeling raucus myself and seeing that a statue of a bare Chested Jeff Goldblum as been erected in London, I couldn’t resist this bit of fluff for today’s Get Listed over at Toad’s. Also, ebony is one of the hardest woods in the world, Ha!

 

The Rain

For the Tuesday Platform over at Toads.

The Rain
Listen to me the way you listen
to the rain – with your head cocked
to one side and your eyes half closed,
a faint smile on your lips.
Touch me the way you touch the rain –
your fingertips extended and your hand cupped
feeling it with all your self.
Dance with me the way you
dance in the rain –
with total abandon
with joy and knowledge of the fleeting
nature of the rain,
holding your face up to take the kiss
of the rain fully and deeply,
your arms extended like the
wings of an owl,
ready to lift off into the sky.

The Skeeter

Today is the Seventh Anniversary of dVerse Poets Pub.  It is Quadrille Monday and a poem of exactly 44 words is required using the prompted word “itch”.  Perfect for summer.  My apologies to Issa. I do not usually write humorous poems but last night, I had a run-in with a mosquito.

The Skeeter
You’re the itch I cannot scratch.
You’re the whine that keeps me awake.
Bitey bitch mosquito
I will hunt you down
And smash you flat.
I am not deaf.
I am not numb.
There you are at the ceiling!
Swat!
Now you are dead.

The Owl

For Marian’s Fussy little forms prompt at Real Toads. A tricube form. three syllables per line, three lines per stanza, three stanzas per poem. Posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry

The Owl
full moon – an
owl glides in
the moonlight.

silent and
deadly – wings
extended.

mice scramble
for cover –
it’s too late.

Painted in Tones of Argent

For the weekly 55.  When I wrote this, my mother was dying. She has since died.

Painted in Tones of Argent
My backyard sleeps under
the full moon like a drowned Atlantis.
I sit on my back steps inhaling
the scents of honeysuckle and
a whiff of pot from my neighbors’-
A faint scent of petrichor:
the storm breaks
weeping on the trees.
My mother is dying.

The Deer

A second one for Margaret’s prompt.  this one has meaning.  THE REAL POEM IS NOT THIS ONE!!!!  My links are all mixed up.  sorry.  The Real Poem is Toni S The Real poem.  Sorry folks.  My brain has gone north for the summer.

used by permission. Toril Fisher artist

The Deer
He feels himself vanishing –
each day, each month, each year
he is diminished.
Every painting done,
every laser copy printed and sold
and framed in an elaborate artsy
or rustic frame.
He is not happy.
His world is vanishing in front of his eyes.
He wonders if each day will be his last.

Growing season

For Margaret’s prompt, Artistic Impressions featuring the work of Tori Fisher.

A John Tully & Tori Fisher Collaboration

spring growing season –
beets and carrots –
large lush delicious