A Dinner Date Dilemma


A Dinner Date Dilemma

“Darling, dinner’s at 8,” George called to his wife of twenty-two years, we don’t want to be late.”

“Almost ready,” she winked, sashaying by, “I couldn’t resist, was on sale, what you think?”

As he glanced at his watch, George thought to himself, ‘Don’t say it Rita….please don’t…there she goes!’

“Does it make me look fat?” Rita blurted, fluttering her lashes while striking a pose.

Any gentleman will tell you it’s a no win situation… a trap that few escape unscathed!

“I love the color Rita; how it brings out your eyes, it’s new you say? And your hair…like it swept off your beautiful face in that way. Always love that perfume how it wafts through the room…”

“Geooorrrge…!”

“Are those new shoes? I hope they’re comfortable. Can’t have them pinching your toes while we dance, come now, let’s go.”

Rita shifted her pose, tapped her foot on the floor, and side-eyed this lovely man she adored. “You didn’t answer my question…!”

George squirmed, ‘oh hell,’ he thought. “Well…”

“Shhhhhushh, Georgie stop. Don’t answer me that, of course I look fat, no dress can hide that!”

Rita rushed to his side, kissed his shiny bald head. “I love you,” she said.

“And I love you Rita, my beautiful girl,” George smiled, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.“

~kat

Day One NaPoWriMo 2022 - The idea is to write your own prose poem that, whatever title you choose to give it, is a story about the body. The poem should contain an encounter between two people, some spoken language, and at least one crisp visual image.

ode to an aging fragile heart

ode to an aging fragile heart

the icy tip of Reaper’s sickle
lightly tapped her shoulder yesterday
her breathless voices gently whispered,
“winter is coming”, she heard Hel say

oh hush you pounding pitter-patter
elephant dancing upon her chest
it’s just a passing ‘bleeping’ blip
but maybe it’s time for her to rest

let someone else with nose to grindstone
deal with the dread deliverables
the Piper’s fluting, shrill, pricks her ears
background ‘music’ to this crucible

forced to face the inconvenient
unpaid debt now due Mortality,
“it’s much later than you think, my dear”
youth is but a fleeting memory

Shadow follows close, a breath away
she’s not ready to engage Her yet
‘she will survive’, the mantra of her life
drives her in this battle to the death

~kat

NaPoWriMo 2022 - Early-Bird Prompt - I decided to do a rhyming poem that borrows some style quirks from Emily Dickinson and her poem “Because I Could Not Stop Fo Death”.

The artwork is a little something i whipped up in a drawing app on my phone…my canvas is digital these days! ❤️

first flower


first flower

hello there dandy,
first to bloom,
with golden mane,
frosted lightly,
buttons of tiny petals
to parasols of gray,
taking flight one day
on bursts of breath
whispered softly
to a crystalline sky…
it would seem
you are more
than a nuisance,
a weed deeply rooted,
it is you who dares
to bare your face,
to rise, to shine
in the light
of the worm moon,
to announce
the coming spring…
a dandy-lion who
dallies with tempests,
only to be plucked
from the loam,
soft, downy,
feather-light, ripe
for the kiss of wish-makers,
to dance for wide-eyed
innocents who dare to dream

~kat

falling to pieces

falling to pieces

i’ve been watching the great oak
in my yard for several years now…
she doesn’t play by the rules
of autumn, clinging tightly to
faded, parched leaves against
the fiercest of tempests, through
ice and heavy lobs of wet snow,
though her branches may bend
to almost breaking, she holds fast
i don’t know what to think of such
a tree, is it vanity, stubbornness,
a lapse of memory? for as sure
as summer drifts to autumn and
autumn to winter, spring will come
as the sun grows warm and days
grow long, life will begin to surge
through her veins causing buds
to burst, at long last setting their
departed siblings free to ride the wind,
to taste the earthen loam, to rest,
to rest in peace in a sea of greening

i’ve been known to be stubborn, to
cling too tightly to things not meant
for me, to useless longing for what
once was, my memory forgetful of
the struggles of those glorified once
upon a times, and time again i have
been known to stand full-faced
against a tempest, convinced i held
on and on for virtue’s sake, believing
martyrdom raised me up, oh there
it is, the vanity, how loathsome
to be a tree that can’t let go
when letting go is one’s very destiny…
letting go to ride the wind, to fall to pieces,
to trust the seasons, to know that
whatever is left of me is all i need
and here, now is where i’m meant to be


~kat

broken

morning has broken

me

the night lingering
into day…no
consolation when
death comes a-calling

~kat

Magnetic Poetry - Poet’s Kit
2022 has been the year of the reaper in our little menagerie. First to fall, our sweet 18-1/2 year old diva kitty, Casey, on January 14th and next to succumb, was our 8-1/2 year old hunk-o-love, big boy Maxwell on February 22nd. The gray sky and rain are cooperating oh too well with the drama of it all. I’m a bit of a mess, especially around mealtime. Two less bowls to fill…:( Hug your fur kids, your kid kids, your grandkids, big kids, little kids…or find a tree and hug that. You never know…you just never know…RIP my lovelies…
Casey
Maxwell