You're my Sweet Pea Princess
Who weaves flowers of every kind
Into a chain or a necklace
Of soft, satin petals
My Sweet Pea Princess
You are my daily inspiration
And you often inspire
My every latest poem
I love you with all my heart
My Sweet Pea Princess
Who will sometimes
Play with pompom *****
Or some kind of kitty toy
I love you so much, darling girl
And always enjoy our feline kisses
Exchanged between our faces
Your soft, furry head against my cheek
Or butted up against my forehead
You're my Sweet Pea Princess
And I love you dearly

*~Marian~

7:30PM, October 9, 2015, 65*F, 10mph breeze, 5% humidity (somehow 10% where I was sitting), 50.0001% chance of rain, dark, cold, late, loud...I think that's enough. Alright! Spoiler alert, Birkston High won the game. If you simply have ears you've known that for a while (many of us who were at the game don't). All the people in Grenfolkshire were there, so there were some empty bleachers, but the Student section was full and lively, and did I say loud, because LOUD....! My ears were ringing (at a B8 note, for the musically overcurious people) for three days straight. I think it was a healthcare tactic, dare I say it. All those figurehead townspeople were there as well, like Mayor Arnofold Plattersbury with his orange jumpsuit, waving a pompom in the air like he just didn't care. Really, he didn't-I got whacked in the head with it eleven times. Recently, after taking a recent poll on the recent event, it was found that only about 35% of people really knew what happened, a number that has declined, recently. This very well is contributed to 1.) most of the people are there for the free food and don't exactly major in football 2.) teenagers are highly social creatures 3.) a bunch of hands in the air and six foot tall mammoths standing on the bleachers will tend to block the view of the people who are five foot small. The freshmen had a real problem on their heads. Nevertheless, the Wildcats found themselves with the bell for another year, whether they knew it or not. The Panthers found themselves nose-in-the-dirt, tail-dragging, while we found ourselves filing out like a herd of wild penguins onto the field.

I can’t remember what I said right before…

I kissed you.

I think I was wearing your blue and orange hat,
the one with the pompom
(You look ridiculous in it).

I’m sure you thought I was cute when I
took it off your head
and clicked up the sidewalk backwards as I put it on.
I probably thought I was giving you ****-eyes.

I thought you’d think I was crazy when I showed up at your door
and rang your doorbell,
(like eight times)
at 4:37 AM.

But I just wanted a kiss I could remember—
one I could accept my diploma with.
Not a face-full of beard
and a blurry hint at what color your eyes
might have been
when I…
               took
                         a step
                                     back.

I wanted to kick off my black Frye boots
that made me taller than you on the hill.
I wanted to shave that beard
to see your face for the first time.

left cup runneth over/

right cup half empty/

if I add my left cup size to my right cup size what will I get/ DD + D = DDD/I've never been great at math/but this is no/miscalculation/

I am 36 DD confined to a 36 D bra/

(D)Disgorges over the underwire/

D--you flaccid beach ball/I wish I could reinflate you/part my mouth around your ******/and/
breathe/

no one can tell/unless I wear a tight bodice/then/you are/obnoxiously evident/

I am afraid of introducing you to my future boyfriend/will he still want to undress me/will he still want to make love to me/

will he still want to touch you/

you/

sea urch/in/the palm of my hand/

even I am hesitant to hold you close to me/

you/

strangulated bagpipe/

moulting pompom/ B-O-O-B/
what's that spell/
what's that spel/
what's that spe/
what's that sp/
what's that s/
what's that/

what is that/

what/

who are you/

you/

waning gibbous/

my metaphors wane, also/it turns out there are only so many euphemisms that can be assigned to an/ill-proportioned breast/

itsy bitsy titsy/

you make me/

sad/

you/

teardrop defying the laws of gravity/

or/
is it the laws of gravity that defy the teardrop/so that it never falls into/
place/

I've noticed only/beautiful/things/
fall/

shooting stars/

autumn/

my left *****

Today, I’m well.
Yes.
Good.
I’m good,
I should say.
God?
God, no!
Good God!
Good.
Up-welling of wellness.
Bow tied:
A bow-tie-kind-of-day day.

Sun furtive.
Won’t be long.
Shouldn’t expect she’ll be long.
Yes, she.
Ephemeral.  
Resplendent.
Sheer she-ness.
Just a Walkers crisp of a bit longer.

It is possible, I might add,
She’ll appear a fraction different
To what one can reasonably be expected to remember.

Good!
I’m good.
That is how it is said, in these parts, isn’t it?
Are you good?
Are you…
Competent?
Up to the task, I mean.
Fit to fly.
Work-ready.
Which sort?  
Wearing odd socks, again.
Accentuate the good.
Try to.
Left and right; or the other way around:
Right and left.  
Or could be both… fancy that!
Cream and chocolate, hey, superb!


Today is a wooly-hat-kind-of-a-day day, is it not?
Prepare for the worst and hope for the best.
Lest there be gales.
What? No! Disaster!
Now, wouldn’t that be…
Wouldn’t that scupper things?  Do you think not?

I love my wooly hat.  
He’s got a name, you know.
Ru-pert.
Stitched with love.
Pompom-topped.
So warm, it is.
Ready for jaunts.
With Rupert.
Up Horsenden Hill.
Too hot, soon.
Best to toss it in the bushes.

                        -------


Perhaps I am under-dressed?
Am I?
Hard to know.
I’ll wear my bow tie again.
Yes, I’ll wear my bow tie when, that is to say, Assuming
The rules permit it.

God permits us
To revel a bit. Kick back.
Do you think God likes to laugh?
God, grant me the gift to laugh.  

                        -------

Oh,
Now,
Did you hear that?
Heating broken,
Not a peep.
Closed valve cylinder, limited warranty,
Manual unfathomable.

But,
No viable option.
‘Northfields Community Library Welcomes You.’
The toilets better be warm!

Our mother
Who does art at seven
Mallowed by thy game
Thy ring tone comes
Thy shall'st have fun
On earth, by the River Severn
Give us this day
Our daily words said
And forgive us our faux pas
As we forgive those
That faux pas against us
Lead us not into isolation
And deliver us some weevils
For thine is the string pompom
The flower, and short story
For ever, and never
Ah Bisto!
by Jemia

The crazy boy is clawing at his mom.
Or does he think she is a tree?
Her trunk twisting backward toward the ground,

a crippled mulberry.
Wicked.  Wicked.  Kicking with his rubber boots,
there are no worlds for him to be

in peace. On something like a hidden track
inside his little hell, he squints an eye
and yells, Let go, let go!, and so she does,

a sob, the tear wiped from her cheek, he's run
across the street, a ratty pompom bobs
on his wool toque, two squirrels ***** a crow

into the sky who caws the same three notes
and settles on a yellow sign that hangs
above his head and warns "No Exit", so

I laugh and look down at my feet to see
a worm tormented by a swarm of ants,
it's spring, a car squeals by, I take a step

towards the brink and beg myself to stop:
I know the boy has gone ahead, I know
the stream descends through hollow rock.