A Mused Seasonal Haiku (or Senryu)

Autumn
Drifting autumn leaves
I thought were orange wafers
Proved inedible

Photo by WARREN BLAKE on Pexels.com

—–

Winter
Snow-tufted leaf stalks
Turned yellow in the sunshine
After walking Dog

Photo by Dominika Roseclay on Pexels.com

—–

Spring
Sneezes wheezes *sniffs*
Frighten social-distancing folk
Oh! Darn allergies!

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

—–

Summer
Overworked sales clerk
Fin’lly relaxing on beach
‘Offered’ a timeshare

Photo by Alexander Stemplewski on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

Chuckie Bob & His Award

Chuckie Bob had one desire:
To see his name in print;
For tightrope walking on a wire,
A public office stint,
Pulling babies from a fire,
Or earning quite a mint.

Unfortunate for Chuckie Bob:
When made by Mom and Dad,
They weren’t too worried ’bout their job
And skimped on brains a tad
-Whilst also being somewhat slobs
And calling thinking, “Bad.”

Still, decided growing Chuck,
He’d up and show them all.
He’d prove he wasn’t just a schmuck;
He stood up straight and tall.
He’d show he wasn’t some lame duck;
“And I will win!” He called.

But, Chuckie Bob forgot one thing,
As he sought his reward:
That warning labels mean something
When they say, ‘Pull the cord
-But after you have cleared the wings,
Propellers, engines, board’

Now, Chuckie Bob’s been made the king
Of Darwin’s famed award.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

Enter your own poem for this week’s contest, due tomorrow!

Blue

What will he do
The man dressed in blue
When everyone’s angry
So angry at blue

What will he do
The man dressed in blue
When his child needs him
Needs him in blue

What will we do
Without men in blue
When no one will answer
And no one wear blue

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens

A Tall Walk Under Eaves

You wouldn’t know
Each kissing bough
Avoids by hair’s-breadth’s swing;
Re-swing.

Delicious how
Obtaining now
Combed-straightness
Under branchèd reach;
My height-blessed friend
Enters the arboreal arch –
Now christened such by
Traipsing squirr’ls
Sent scurrying.

He stands and smiles;
Opens the whiles,
Whene’er he walks the path.

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©2020 Chelsea Owens

Photo by Isham Krb on Unsplash

Acrostically cobbled together for Di of Pensitivity’s Three Things Challenge.

Love the World

Broken friendless lying dying, lifts a hand for

-anything-

Walking talking presses buttons, flashes past within her world.

Why stop living in the mirrors, in the spotlight;
save lying dying friendless one?


.sneaky unseen creeping coughing, enters silent crownèd killer.


Broken homebound lying sighing lifts her hand for

-anything-

Walking talking, in his sunshine, stops outside her locked front gate.

Why not wave at silent windows, in the sunshine;
save lying sighing homebound face?


Then or now, we all are people;

Now or then, we all need love.

-Look around-

and nourish others

Smile, wave, and love the world.

photo of a person leaning on wooden window

Photo by Dương Nhân on Pexels.com

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Wandered in for Carrot Ranch’s prompt:

May 7, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story to nourish. The characters can nourish or be nourished. What else can be nourished? A tree? A setting? Does the sunset nourish the soul? Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by May 12, 2020. Use the comment section …to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

In the Mind of Crazy Rhyme

Soft, the silence screaming
names she’s standing, sighing

Soft, the sickness of the
suffocation singling

Soft, the sex they had be-
fore the space between them

‘Fore, the years of silence

‘Fore, the mental sickness

-Can’t he hear her scream?-

Loud, the longing yearning
pushing pulling prompting

Loud, the laughing demon
in her head is lying

Loud, the lightning-flashes,
loading mem’ries of him

List-ing years-of-longing

List-ing dreaming-lyings

-Can’t he see her yearn?-

Fly, now, fleeting fledgling
first to reach the window

Fly, toward feet-led floating
to the hallway’s ending

Fly now, and be free

-Can’t he see she’s free?-

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Oh, I can do crazy, Charli. (Inspired by Carrot Ranch‘s prompt.)

April 16, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about something crazy. Laugh like crazy, show the setting of stir-crazy or go off the rails on a crazy train. Have fun with the word and the situation, but go where the prompt leads!

Respond by April 21, 2020. Use the comment section …to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

Wage Peace

Wage Peace

by Judyth Hill
September 11, 2001

Wage peace with your breath.
Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings and flocks of red wing blackbirds.
Breathe in terrorists
and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown fields.
Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.
Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.
Wage peace with your listening: hearing sirens, pray loud.
Remember your tools: flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.
Make soup.
Play music, memorize the words for thank you in three languages.
Learn to knit, and make a hat.
Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief
as the outbreath of beauty or the gesture of fish.
Swim for the other side.
Wage peace.
Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious:
Have a cup of tea and rejoice.
Act as if armistice has already arrived.
Celebrate today.

©Judyth Hill

Finding Happiness?

I couldn’t find my happiness
It wasn’t in its place
Not here
Nor there
It’d disappeared
Or hadn’t ever been…
“I’ll find it yet!” I said
I swore
Then sat in Thinker pose
But
-Although I checked behind
Below
Beneath
Bereaved?
I couldn’t find my happiness
Although
I found my sock.

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~~~~~

Pretty sure John influenced this one.

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Photo Credit: Les Triconautes

Two Poetic Parodies

Now I write when I should sleep;
I write so followers I’ll keep.
If I can rhyme before I wake,
Then approbation I will take.

~~~~~

Two souls converged on a bed of wood,
And told each other, “I’m sorry;” both
And; one, rising, sighed with doubt and stood
And looked with as much love as she could
To his messy hair and undergrowth;
Then thought of another, tall and fair,
And how he had tried, her love, to claim,
Because of a black dress she could wear;
Though the dress was gone; pants hung there
Had, to her mind, an effect the same,
And she therefore turned to bed to lay
In satin folds of sheets grey and black.
Oh, if she’d not want another day!
Yet if he’d not shrug; say ’twas her way,
I know he’d not get cold shoulder, back.
I watch and tell ’bout them with a sigh
Somewhere, sometime, and somewhere now hence:
Two souls converged on a bed of wood,
And told each other, “I’m sorry;” both
And that has made all the difference.

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens

And this is why you go to bed at a reasonable time.

I Love Your Perfect Crow’s Feet

I love your perfect crow’s feet,
With crown-and-implant smile –
Your smooth-soled orthopedic tread;
Your pref’rence for ar-gyle.
I need my medications
When you commandeer your ‘chair,
When you wink behind trifocals,
When you comb remaining hair.
There’s something sweet and tender
About shouting, “What’d you say?”
Or asking for my keys, because
You put them “somewhere safe.”
I love a man who’s up all night;
Who naps by afternoon.
I’m crazy ’bout “that government”
And soft and mild food.
But, most of all, my dearest,
I really love the way
I never see the wrinkles ’cause
You haven’t aged a day.

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens