Card trick

life, cancer, poker, gambling, memories,
Dance music,
Damp heat and talk

Drifts to halcyon days of,
Seventies groove and Afro’s ruffled,

In the political funk of,
Freedom fighters and platform shoes,

Cadillac language,
Smooth and languid,

Dripping off honey colored lips like,
Melting chocolate…

It’s a card trick,
And we are mesmorised by,

Furtive glances,
Over fanned cards,

Fascinated by the sleight of hand,
And the afternoon light,

Our soft voices and loud giggles,
Caught in a trick of time,

Heavy with love and breakfast.

-evocative short poetry-

So, health

Short poetry, eartha kitt, black and white

 

And so, health.

And the discussion with mum’s friend,
Who has survived beyond her,

Turns to the evolution of mattresses,

Goose down,
Luxurious but bad for your back,

Foam,

Sometimes current but initially,
Uncomfortable,

Has silver hair that frames,
Her ice blue eyes perfectly,

And deep wrinkles around her mouth,
Lighting every room she is in,

Ripe fruit can be determined by the smell of it.

A mango,
At the right time,

Will flood a kitchen with aromas that colour,
An entire home,

Disperse into cupboards and,
Dispense across living room sofas,

They can make you forget what you are doing as you,
Iron sheets,

Raising smiles in every nook and cranny…

If we live long enough,
We will die with a pocket full of medals.

Out walking this morning,
Healthy and feeling good,

I remembered my sister and her fight with Ovarian,

The frustration she expressed,
Not with the pain,

The body that would not allow her,
To spend time her own time.

Out walking I was thought,
A million dollars can change everything.

I feel now finally,
I can be happy with health.

So.
Health.

♦picture – Eartha Kitt, Wikipedia

evocative short poetry – words move

Mt. Longonot

short poerty, wors move, american painting, history, grant wood, love

Do you remember
the climb?

short or not,
shall we not?

Remember the trip up,
Longonot,

can we not, did we not?

Remember fooling around,
In that old farmhouse,

will we not, sexy tot,
love my hot
sexy pot?

Let him have the car keys dear,
Let him go to Longonot.

 

American Gothic Challenge     evocative short poetry – words move

-visit my postaday2011 – blog-

♦picture – American Gothic by Grant Wood at Wikipedia.com & Logonot Crater at Wikipedia.com

Serial Killer

I squashed a cockroach the other day.

A big,
Fat,
Cockroach.

It was trying to get away and I squashed it.

Not that I had anything against that,
Particular cockroach but,
I was bare-foot.

I had tea,
And biscuits,
And was bare-foot when he made his dash across the corridor.

It took some time to calm down and,
Fetch another tray.

It had moved.

A thick, white streak,
Of substantial viscosity,
Ran right across the floor and,
Straight under my door.

Her gartered leg was up on the table.

She removed a delicate silver pistol and,
With his back turned,
Fired a single shot.

I used a shoe this time,
Like a maniac,

And then,
Framed by a single,
Swinging light-bulb,
Waited for the detective.

evocative short poetry -words move

♦photos –  my little sister