All writing

once bitten, twice shy
not for vampires or werewolves
they're not shy at all

Cinderella, my good fella, is performing acapella
no one's had the heart to tell her
she cannot carry a tune

her glass dreams have all been shattered
crushed by all the things that mattered
though the slippers stand, untattered
since the ball was held last June

servants cater to her follies
but can't shake her melancholies
feeling like she's lost in space

and Prince Charming fails to get it
who knew that he's so bad at it
though he surely did regret it
getting her a fireplace

the tundra puts on royal airs as the horizon melts
and in their caves, the sleeping bears get restless in their pelts
the sun emerges in the sky, and interrupts their lullaby
as winter cedes to spring: what wonders will it bring

standing leafless, thin-skinned birches
steeples of forgotten churches
they await the rites of spring
worshippers return and sing
but for now, incased in white
settle for the sun's delight

Your galleries are groaning with the strain
of masterpieces chomping at the bit.
Each seeks to earn its eminent domain,
"Pick me, pick me", they shout into the street.

Here Donatello's David tips his hat
acknowledging his famous counterpart,
and Venus on the shell, yeah, she's all that
her ministry's affairs are of the heart.

Lorenzo the Magnificent stands tall,
these cobblestones were once beneath his feet.
Savonarola's faithful on a roll,
plain politics the cause of their defeat

Enlightenment, it's here you found your home

My admiration,

and Yours Truly,

Rome

hope spring's eternal
overheard by the djinny
California

writer's block Jenga
keep building your word towers
poetic collapse

the coin makes a splash
at the bottom of the well
bucket full of hope

the mouse police defunded
its captain reprimanded
and no more cattle deals
exhausting all appeals
no fields to ride all over
no rye, no wheat, no clover
no more through thick and thin
we're stuck in a between

I make my fate from concentrate
just add a little water
fait accompli is not for me
I'm no lamb for the slaughter
reap what I sow, but make it so
what I can't get, forgotten
I make my fate from concentrate
it has no expiration date
and so it's rarely rotten

it says iambic, my old chum,
please don't succumb
to metering
that's teetering

to hear it, read it back aloud,
and please the crowd
with clever rhymes
that aren't crimes

hmm, I despair you're just not there,
but to be fair
a limerick
might do the trick

*********************************
it says iambic, my old chum
ta-Dum ta-Dum,
you hear the drum?
ugh, don't be dumb

to hear it, read it back aloud
your accents proud
and words endowed
you'll please the crowd

yes! that technique will do the trick
through thin and thick
you can't? Then stick
to limerick

the caravel groans and repels
the torrent as it floods the bow
the cannons, more than useless now
are tossed about between the swells

the sails are satin for their graves
a lightning strikes the broken mast
his face outlined in pale blue cast
rain drenched, the curls had lost their waves

so beautiful, he cannot drown!
what can she do? will Neptune know?
no matter, she will not let go
and as the caravel goes down

she cradles him, unconscious, hurt
and carries him towards the shore
she knows not what she has in store
nor the insignia on his shirt

he's on the beach, a final shove
the angry waves hiss and complain
and now back home, how to explain
to Neptune: Daddy, I'm in love!