All writing

could I let you go
like this bridge lets water go
shrugging its shoulders

Author notes: Wc 15 Under the Bridge by Manon Sander

my woodchuck's chopping wood outside
the fireplace crackles with pine
and later, coziness and wine
he's neither awkward, nor tongue tied

looking for a fresh metaphor
the poet settles
for small pond in a big pond

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.
Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over
the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering
over the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.

And the Devil said: but I wanted a Bud Light!

Author notes: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2800328-Twisting we start of course with a quote from Genesis

I asked the thunder:
do you ring
with echoes of forgotten wars
and dreams of plunder

it laughed me off
and said that it's just thunder
as lightning struck
and tore the peace asunder

a tightrope is my daily work
I'm loving it, work at Le Cirque
and in H.R. parlance
maintain work life balance
my boss is a clown, but a jerk

a fairy quite nefarious
misdeeds diverse and various
once found herself precariously
hanging by a thread

her tenancy made tenuous
and not to mention strenuous
she offered disingenuously
to be good instead

but since she was notorious
and though it was laborious
the fae police had gloriously
known just what to do

if you are slightly curious
avoiding the injurious
they labored rather furiously
and they caught her too

Rumpelstiltskin, in his own skin
was a comfortable rogue
but he dreamt of, on his time off
of appearing in a Vogue

though amorphous, metamorphous
in his habits, and quite sly
chrysalis -- not what he is
and so he got a butterfly

Author notes: Image Credit: Tempest in a Teapot and Silver Flat Wear, LLC - James C Christensen

my quilt is made of different states
united by a needlepoint
on rainy days its warm embrace
helps with my ancient, creaky joints
the heartland covering my heart
the coasts no longer far apart
I treasure it, can't bear its loss
it has become my Betsy Ross

Milli Vanilli
pivot to rockabilly
true? no, not really

can a poem make you bleed?

as I risk a paper cut
leafing through these stylized pages
by pontificating sages
even those that time forgot
writing was their only creed...

they are likely to succeed

but their chance is sure to dwindle
were I switching to a Kindle

wishful thinking yields to orders
tanks are crossing over borders
echoes of forgotten wars
as the bear, defiant, roars

would that we were as we should
but we've learned all the wrong lessons
weakness always gets aggression
while we navel gaze and brood