Christmas Newsletter, poetic edition

‘Twas the night before Christmas so I wrote a poem, And what to my wondering eyes – no one’s home

To read all my prancing and pawing of hoofs, Or really all my kids’ accomplishments I’m proud of.

I in my MLM, Bob in his job, kids with their apps Have just settled down to show off our cat.

Away to the mailbox I fly like a flash Tear open my mail and then put down some cash

To pay for some photos, in new-fallen snow, To be used in this letter you’re reading, below.

So, you’ll hear me exclaim as this letter goes out of sight: Happy Christmas to All, until New Year’s Night!

Please, please, please enter the A Mused Poetry Contest. The deadline is this Friday!

©2020 Chel Owens

Photo by Any Lane on Pexels.com

Our Dreams, a poem

When are dreams
just dreams –
Cotton candy clouds above our
wondering eyes,
Entirely magical and beyond human touch?

When are they
substantial –
Sand or clay or peanut butter sandwiches,
Taken in hand
and formed to what we wish?

When do they
get taken –
Envied, criticized by
abusing fingers
Whose dreams left long ago?

When are dreams
– just dreams –
Substantial
Taken

Missed

And when do we

dream

again?

Photo by Rakicevic Nenad on Pexels.com


©2020 Chel Owens

A Bad Luck Day (Poem)

I dropped my keys
When I just sneezed

Then tripped on Cat
And lost my hat

Which really sucked
‘Cause now I’m bald

I walked to work
Sweat in my shirt

I got there late
To a locked gate

And realized, quick
I was deep in trouble

Locked out here
And, also there
Without a spare

Without house keys
From when I sneezed

Without my cat
Without my hat

The day still sucked
I still was bald

I couldn’t work
Removed my shirt

I’d been too late
They’d closed the gate

I wasn’t quick
Was in deep trouble

Digging here
Searching there
I found the spare

And went inside to see it was a Sunday.

Photo by Amelie on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

You can enter a silly poem, too, for this week’s A Mused Poetry Contest. The theme is bad luck!

Ohhh Eeee Aaay Vacay!

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh
The kids just screamed, “I’ve gotta go!”
And
The trailer’s back there, in the snow;
We needed it for food, sleep, clothes
But
Its tires fell off and it won’t go.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Cry Mommy, Daddy, kids, baby
‘Cause
Sally poked him; “Bill’s breathing!”
The car’s all out of gasoline
And
No one’s ever changed Baby.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaay
Dad’s just asked why they vacay
So
Mom’s offered to give him ‘way
Low tire pressure‘s on display
And
When we get to far, far ‘way
Mom and Dad will droop and sway
But
All the kids will want to play;

Says Mom, “Why do we e’er vacay?”

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

There’s still time to enter YOUR poem for this week’s A Mused Poetry Contest!!

Seamen’s Sacrifice

Ship askew ‘gainst pounding waves
We crew all stand, aghast
Our hearts aren’t nearly in their place
A-beating in our boots.

What foul-steamed beast have we released
By testing ice-tipped lake
What curse by hist-ry’s seamen have we
Raised by braving boats?

A-tempted by the calmer shores
We think to stay a-moored
When cry comes over radio:
A hapless vessel sinks.

“Remember Barb!” reminds the crew
A-bolstered, we set out
Our matron of the sea now scares
Away our shallow fears.

“Remember her!” beat hearts, returned
Whilst sea spray hisses by;
Remember seamen’s sacrifice
To rescue all in need.

©2020 Chel Owens

Inspired by Charli’s prompt to write about life savers on any body of water; in remembrance of her good friend, Barb Koski.

Skarla Skeleton

Skarla pulled her covers up,
A mask over her head.
Her mummy came with steaming cup
And asked, “Why haunt your bed?”

“Oh, Mum! The kids say, ‘SKELETON!’
“They run away in fear.”
Her mummy groaned. “Aww, that’s no fun.
“They just don’t know you, Dear.”

And then, they heard a creepy gong;
Some kids were at their door.
Skar dried her tears; Mum came along,
Bones clunking on the floor.

Skarla’s friends said, “Trick or treat!”
And, “Skar! Where have you been?”
Smiling, Skarla donned a sheet
And went out, with her friends.

Photo by Nick Bondarev on Pexels.com

Written for Susannah Leonard Hill’s Halloweensie Contest.

©2020 Chel Owens

A Masked Romance

Martha and John, two wannabe lovers
Both swiped to the right
On cell phones (and hardcovers –
But that’s a story for another write).

The point is, at pinging
Of app on their matchup
Besides some light singing
They ‘greed on a catch up:

A date! And, thank goodness,
‘Twas fashionable to
Wear a mask if you could-ness
And sext over Zoom.

…..

A bit of a bother,
Once they reached Wedding Night:
They both scared each other;
So, they turned out the light!

Photo by Gustavo Fring on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

Results for this week’s A Mused Poetry Contest coming soon! You can still sneak one in; I won’t tell.

The ‘eadless Ratt’ler’s Back

Fire black and smoke all red, the sun shone ‘gainst the West.
Glint in eye an’ tale in head, Old Jack sized up his guests.
There warn’t much to impress ‘im ’bout the two who stared ‘im back:
City-boys, all barn and raised, with city-boy rucksacks.

“Ah’m tellin’ yuh, an’ ah don’ lie,” Jack told ’em, face set stern,
“You’d best watch out when sunset’s red, when sand feels like to burn.
“The ‘eadless ratt’ler’s comin’ out –Look! Behind yuh now!”
An’ shore enough, those tenderfoots, yelped like they’d jus’ learned how.

An’ Jack, jus’ laughed.
“Ah gotcha now!”

Photo by Matheus Bertelli on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

Told ’round a campfire for Carrot Ranch‘s prompt this week:

October 22, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a spooky tale told around a campfire. It doesn’t have to include the campfire; it can be the tale. Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by October 26, 2020. Use the comment section [on the site] 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.

Two Poems for the Proud

Young Simon put everyone down
With insults and pointings and frowns.
Himself, he adored –
For a date, he implored;
Yet, ev’ry girl turned that jerk down.

—–

“Look at me,” cried the balancing girl
As, on rooftop, she walked with arms whirled.
Despite your assumption,
Her balance resumption-ed,
And she, once on ground, died by squirrel.

Photo by Man Dy on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

Like what you read? Wanna write one, too? Go ahead, then submit it for this week’s A Mused Poetry Contest!! The deadline is tomorrow morning.