Short Poem

What's my luggage, you ask?
Of course, Louis Vuitton.
I've accomplished my task.
Time to pass the baton.
And do what, you might ask, and go where?

If I rock, it won't be in a chair.

Author notes: image from Facebook

I huff and puff to generate
a meme to seem supreme
It's rough and tough -- hope not too late
to dream and scheme on theme.

When the years press you down
and the aches that add up
put a frown on your face
do not fret, do not stop
and eschew any talk
that it sucks to get old
As the old proverb says…

Fortune favors the bald

Author notes: image generated by author prompt to Gemini

I bring ya a tale of the Möbius stripper.
As handy with Euclid as she’s with a zipper,
and furthermore, since she’s got nothing to hide,
she’d show perfect strangers her only good side.

She, sadly, got caught in a lovers’ triangle.
Obliged, by her nature, to twist and entangle,
and having no options — she knew this was wrong
she found a new job and now serves as a thong

Author notes: Image generated by author prompt to GPT

When the light at the end of the tunnel goes dark
When a walk is no longer a walk in the park
When doubt eats at your guts at the end of the day
When you're ready to fight, let them come, come what may
When the spirit is wanting, the flesh, though, is weak
When the spectre is haunting, the living dead speak
When the hope springs eternal and hearts are on fire

Try to say something new. Do not preach to the choir.

When asked: what's the point of it all
Is it sex? Is it drugs? Rock & Roll?
It's not that it's not
he simply forgot
and said that he couldn't recall

on the subject of pigeon and dove
only one stands for Lord from above
but the other -- the pigeon
is what rhymes with religion
while dove is stuck rhyming with love

Author notes: image generated by author prompt to Gemini

Does it snow on the moon? Is it sparkly and white,
and will make lovers swoon, and will not be denied,
'cause it's covered in snow, permafrost wonderland,
icy crystals you know you can't grab with your hand
but you wish that you could. Will you reach for the stars?
Grab a handful? You should. She is yours. She is ours.

Author notes: image from Facebook

What do Lachesis, Clotho, Atropos, do, when they get together at last?
Grab a lunch? Out for cocktails and tapas, or a heartier, fuller repast?
I imagine the Fates as three yentas, sitting, gossiping over your threads,
matching outfits, in pink and magenta, then snip, snip as they send their regrets.

Author notes: image from Freepik

She was born from this foam, Aphrodite,
fully formed; she was Love at first sight,
Lust and Longing to render her mighty,
as no other divine power might.
Born, but never entirely free.
That is why you, too, long for the sea.

Author notes: image from Unsplash

Fall is here. She feels like dancing, feels the summer wash away,
as the season crawls, advancing. before winter has its sway.
She is young enough to welcome futures turning into pasts.
Young and pretty. She continues to believe the present lasts.

Author notes: photo thanks to Sylviane Nuccio

Little peanut, eyes open.
She's not dreaming, she's hoping.
Playful whimsy to carry her.
Starry night becomes starrier.
Go to sleep, tell her so...

She will not wanna go

Author notes: image from Pinterest

What is Paris, you say?
Sail a boat on the Seine
Walk up Champs-Élysées
as a November rain
falls on you from above.
What is Paris? It's love.

Author notes: image from Facebook

Bathing in moonlight, the cobblestones glisten
Crisp autumn air adds a glint to their shine.
Moon hangs down low, as if trying to listen,
searching for lovers who seek the divine:
Come, and be washed in my glow.

But the streets are deserted below.

Author notes: image from Facebook

Romeo loves Juliette. Arrow through the heart.
Chalk on sidewalk -- they've just met, can't bear to be apart.
Asphalt buckles, concrete cracks, and soon they're broken-hearted.
Should have known it could not last. Known before it started.

Author notes: photo from The Head Plan

A translucent gown adorning
fertile valleys, gentle slopes.
Dawn arrives. The misty morning,
wispy wishes, fragile hopes,
knowing what it means to yearn,
readies for the morning's burn.

Author notes: Photo from Vecteezy

Stained glass window, frozen wave,
irridescent glory,
Simple happiness you crave
captured in this story
Would that it were true, alas...

These are merely shards of glass.

Author notes: photo by Robyn Mead Designs

Done with baby, done with little,
done with mermaid at the last.
Every step will hurt: bones brittle
but the ocean is her past
and her future? Balls and princes.
Takes another step... She winces.

Author notes: photo thanks to Shelf Editions

I can't help running into,
then running out on friends.
And no, it's not my Pinto
and surely not Depends,
though some would blame the latter,
I credit not the notion.
An overactive bladder
is keeping me in motion.

Author notes: image created by author prompt to Gemini

Looking for word play to give me a poem
Checked movie titles, the good ones: you know ‘em

Breakfast at Tiffany’s:
endless epiphanies

then Naked Lunch...

I have a hunch
Dinner for Schmucks is up next...

and here, oh shucks, ends the text.

Author notes: Image generated by author prompt to gemini

The park abandoned, leaves done falling,
the river, lazy, runs below.
Come back! the park bench begs, Come calling!
Please do not let the seasons flow
keep you away. Come, take a stroll!
It's not the end. It's merely Fall.

Author notes: image from Getty Images

he offered the lady his heart
said nothing could keep them apart
but hearts can be brittle
since nothing's so little
the effort was doomed from the start

Author notes: image from VectorStock

Bouquet discarded on the shore.
Rose petals drown in salty water,
He doesn't love her anymore.
Somebody's son, somebody's daughter
despondent, cries, their tears are bitter.
The setting sun gives up its glitter.

Author notes: Image from vecteezy

Ask her: what does she want?
Not a diamond to flaunt
or a necklace to wear.
She has many a care
but confesses, of late,
wants the moon on a plate.

Author notes: Image from freepin

Her bow a witch's wand,,
the violin her altar.
Time's gently flowing sand
won't let her slow or falter
nor play a note too soon.

Her audience: the moon.

Author notes: Image from pxfuel

come on autumn, come on freeze
I'm right here, among the trees,
do your worst, storm,bring your trouble...

I'm a warbler, I don't wobble

Author notes: image from Freepik

Pastoral: a peaceful lake,
undisturbed by wave or wake
Hills surround it, some quite steep.
On their slopes, the gentle sheep
graze along without a care.
Wolf, they think, no longer there

Author notes: Image from Julia Rigby

Hey, little princess, you're finally free!
Did you escape from Saint-Exupéry?
Leap from your book to your planet of choice,
where harp-looking trees strum along to your voice?
Still, something tells me you're playing your part,
teaching us all: we must follow our heart.

Author notes: image from Fine Art America

starting with a single flower
waterlilies overpower
and, as it is now well known,
on a timeline of their own,
they will fully fill the pond...

care not whether you respond

Author notes: image from Facebook

It's raining as autumn demands your surrender.
But look! Here's a flower, so precious, so tender!
Its petals: the sun, as a toddler would draw it,
Remember, your child did? You smiled when you saw it...

A yellow pincushion: Oh... aint you a cutie.
The window tears up, overcome by its beauty

Author notes: image from wroc.tv

The vase: a gentle splash of periwinkle
reflecting off the walls -- a lime-washed plaster,
that long ago succumbed to crack and crinkle.

The window sill: no quartz or alebaster,
but just an oaken plank whose paint had peeled...

And yet I feel a truth has been revealed.

Author notes: Image from Storyblocks

asking for a form
that doesn't serve a function
wound up with a mold

we tried together, tried apart
tried every weather, but the heart
can't beg to pardon what's not there
a rose bush garden, empty chair

Author notes: image from The Gardener's Center

The view: a tranquil ocean cove
a veritable treasure trove
but not of diamonds and gold
of stories that do not grow old:
a hero's journey, pirate's cave,
and on the breeze, a gentle wave.

Author notes: image from Facebook

The sea's aglow with distant fire, the wind, soft kisses on my face.
Sun, sinking, threatens to expire, to disappear without a trace.
"I will be back," it swears, "tomorrow. Come back and watch me as I rise."
I nod, and wash away my sorrow as tears of joy spill from my eyes

Author notes: image from Storyblocks

Compete with wit in just four feet!
Said he, completing three.
Repeat the beat, that's it, they meet
and oui, no fee, for free

We must, nonplussed, and trust, aghast,
awards of sorts, my lords,
robust, (that's just!) we lust, or bust,
towards our words in chords

Moonlight floats on the bay as an old fishing boat
battles rust and decay, but remaining afloat,
longs to sail just once more, feel the pulse of a wave,
and to find, far from shore, her true watery grave.

Author notes: photo from Ray Mackey Photography

Where the prairie once spread, apple orchards and fields.
Green, delicious, and red, bred to maximize yields.
Home to mustang and deer, once near endless, immense,
has long since disappeared. Ancient oak by the fence.

Author notes: image from Facebook

At an out-of-town retreat,
relaxation near complete.
Looking through the looking glass,
staring at a horse's ass
He may whinny, but I whine.
Well, at least they have some wine.

Author notes: image from Facebook

Pause for a moment. Reexamine
whether you merely exist,
the cause of neither feast nor famine,
so unremarkable a beast
that the philosophers cite you
to prove, as expectations shrink,
that while the inverse may be true
I am does not imply I think

Author notes: image generated by author prompt to Gemini

Tuscany, Gascony, Napa, Sonoma
Some call it dastardly,
Some quote old Homer
Some quote the Bible; that's also fine.
The Bible says: Blessed be the fruit of the vine.

Author notes: image from Facebook

She still stands there and waits for his ship to come in,
pass its way through the straits so their life can begin.
Tides keep falling and rising each day without fail,
but the barren horizon will not yield a sail,
nor a bow or a stern. On the cold, rocky shore,
she awaits his return. He had always, before.

Author notes: image from Simple Good Life

Ballerina, should have seen her
arabesque and pirouette
her appearance, her demeanor,
a Giselle you won't forget
If I could but set the stage, she would leap right off the page.

if you give a mouse a cookie
he will ask for milk
but I gave my mouse a bouquet
and his ears turned to silk

Author notes: wc 25

Stars shine, cold and distant, safely out of reach.
Ankle deep in moonlight on an empty beach,
I can't help but wonder if each grain of sand,
searches for a soulmate, seeks to understand,
why they shine and sparkle, shimmer and delight,
up there in the heavens, letting there be light.

Author notes: image from Freepik

rusty vessel
splash of color
flowers nestle
shorter, taller
best in the bouquet
somewhat hard to say
but don't call me crazy
maybe oopsie daisy

Author notes: Wc 25

an artist dares to juxtapose
a grand piano with a rose
and my eyes see a wild romance
two lovers met as if by chance
loves, loves me not, each petal sings
piano keys stroke metal strings

Author notes: Image from Facebook

Wings folded, resting in the sun
among the gently swaying reeds.
Will she land next to him, the one,
before the evening sun recedes,
or will their paths have never crossed,
the moment gone, forever lost.

Author notes: Image from Facebook

The truth is to lie is to sin
Hard stopping, once you begin
Because, as one knows
A win by a nose still a win

I'm here telling you, sister:
beware the transistor
for what once was a calm, quiet beach
Will, in time, be a zone
that belongs to the phone
and the calmness is long out of reach

Author notes: image from the Manual

hearts on display, searching for love
some hope and pray, some look above
some being told they'll find it soon
under a cold, inconstant moon

Author notes: Image from Medium

I might have committed a gaffe
(Though I'm rarely so tactless and rough)
But despite that tall neck
(and those eyes, what the heck)
The lady is not a giraffe

Author notes: image from iStock

Unfurl those bright, delicate gossamer wings
that shimmer and shine in the sun,
fulfilling the promise that each of us brings
and given, since life had begun,
to strive for it all, to conquer, to soar
and who could ask life for anything more

Author notes: image from NightCafe

gently flowing sand crack in an ancient sundial the river of time

It's true: I have egg on my face,
but please do not get on my case.
Yes, I've whored and I've gambled,
but my brain isn't scrambled
as it would be hard to replace

Impressionists capture the lush and idyllic
avoid classic themes, make their points in acrylic
discarding Madonnas with child and Achilles
Manet or Monet: Did it have to be lilies?

Author notes: Image from Draw Paint Academy

Grey autumn sky
sterile and barren

Mansion appears
fit for a baron

I can't deny
admiring, starin'

What draws your eye?
Her, or the heron?

Author notes: image from social media wc 25

I'd tell my old friend Baba Yaga
The villain of many a saga
Your hut's chicken feet
Are ready to eat
But frankly, I'd rather not nag her.

tower oozing wealth and power
now a symbol of our love
sit below it, quiet hour
as the rain falls from above
and remember that first kiss
Paris, nothing is amiss

Author notes: For contest https://allpoetry.com/poem/add?item[for_contest_id]=2866378

like fallen angels, they're abandoning their host
their crimson color marks the depth of their betrayals
they've fled, forsaking both their duty and their post
allowed the breeze to put the wind behind their sails
and carried downward, some while seeking greener grass
while others, shameless, always destined for the bottom
do not attempt to hide their joy that summer passed
unroll the scarlet, blood-red carpet, here comes autumn

she loves them, yes she does, fear not
the daisy, the forget-me-not
the dandelion, daffodil
she'll sit and stare at them, sit still
think of wildflowers in green grass
and all futures yet to pass

Author notes: image from facebook

cat ladies rule as the dog ladies bristle
some will consider the cat a dog whistle
but perish the thought, cats ignore your commands
and keep their claws in if you follow their plans

Author notes: image from author prompt to GPT

seen it all and been it all
had cigarettes and alcohol
and through it all, she's had a ball
while never ceasing to enthrall

Author notes: image from facebook

there it floats, the water lily
while she's thinking, will he, will he
will this stubborn man propose...
but the lily, not a rose

Author notes: image from facebook

Caught it right outside my windows.
Under it, a pot of gold.
Ever wonder what is in those?
In those stories that are told
of unreachable horizons -
can you get there - there's a prize.
Some advice - it surely wizens -
it's for hope that never dies.

Author notes: photo by author

bullets as ballots
plows into swords
our coarsened palates
weaponized words
nothing is grey
and yet everything dark
sure, hope and pray,
cause the choices are stark

Author notes: image generated by GPT

splash of color, perfect face
eyes that freeze you in your place
and that mouth -- all attitude
says how dare you to intrude
on this goddess' domain...

the cat's owner, just as vain

Author notes: image from Facebook

day will come, the stars will tire, fireflies will lose their spark
dressed in velvety attire, night will reign, its purpose dark
plasma swirling, coalescing, pushes inward and ignites
and god, granting us his blessing, smiles while turning on the lights

Author notes: image of Van Gosh starry night from Facebook

firefly orgies
the scent of deer musk on wood
enter cicada

This Otto keeps me on my game
and mostly does me well
except when "lines begin the same"
deducts from villanelle

The world is not a graphic novel. And not a play.
Though there's no lack of shit to shovel
in ways both typical and novel,
nor lack of characters that may,
to the astonishment of all,
behave as if they're in a play.
Each curtain call,
bow down and pray.

Author notes: patterned after Frost's Fire and Ice.  Image generated by GPT

magic phrases soar and hover
meet a frenemy, a lover
they're awaiting your first look
open it, and you'll discover
beauty hides under the cover
of any ordinary book

Author notes: image from facebook

"this town could not be hillier", so thought her new familiar,
and he could not be sillier, this ordinary cat.
Aloof and supercilious, and carefully punctilious,
and neither wild nor villainous, and no, not in a hat.

Author notes: image from facebook

sit in a circle, knees tight
which is your left, which is right?
steady, please wait for your turn
remember, we're here but to learn
one sip at a time, pinky out
this is what style is about

Author notes: photo from Facebook

Cobblestones shimmer and shine.
Bell towers scrape the divine.
Sailboats adrift on the drink.
Sky runs from redeye to pink.
You didn't come for the views
Venice, in orangy blues

Author notes: image from facebook

painting Mt. Fuji
can so often be kludgy
picture with 2g

Roach Motel posts No Vacancies sign

see Aphrodite
come, watch the tide coming in
she is born again

she's a little verklempt
in this painting by Klimt
an attempt to preempt
to avoid being crimped
but stays silent -- been told
that her tears are pure gold

Author notes: art by Klimt

the sunset, fire in the distance
the ocean swallowing its flame
a lighthouse blinks into existence
to signal sailors that lay claim
to these unmapped, uncharted waters
and keep them safe from Neptune's daughters

Author notes: artwork from facebook

caught in vivid pastels, rooftops vie for the sun
bnbees and hotels carve their slots having won
just a bit of the land on the cobblestone street
stay with me, they demand, take a load off those feet

Author notes: image from Facebook

was Passover taken offline

some rains are a shower to wake up the earth
and sate every flower and seed their rebirth
some signal a season to hear children sing
some rain for no reason except it is spring
some remain unexplained, some we've yet to discover
and some are a maiden -- she waits for her lover

Author notes: photo from facebook

there's a solar eclipse
as the planets align
after so many trips
the celestial design
picks a time around noon
and delivers its gaze
there's a man on the moon
says it's all just a phase

electron in orbit
an ion will fight
to grab it, absorb it
extinguish its light
then send it away
on a signaling mission
and that's all there is
to the human condition

to err is human
to forgive -- decline

things have gotten so political
they are going to
primary colors

pollinators
pond with gators
bush or two
and park
curators

sprinkled with stardust
the sky effervescent
god as an artist
had painted the crescent
yellow as cheddar

I'm light as a feather

Author notes: image from Facebook

Tuscany, Gascony, Italy, France
brunch in the courtyard, a touch of romance
where are the people, you'll see 'em
they're off to another museum

Aristotle liked to prattle
and was partial to the bottle
Archimedes measured titties,
was responsive to entreaties
Leonidas, though a tight ass
worked it hard to reunite us
and though Cato followed Plato
neither tasted a potato

There's a place near Inverness
where it's anybody's guess
as to how and as to why
all the lassies you'll come by
hair as red as kindled fire
beauties all, they rule the shire

Author notes: image from Facebook

if time is both money and sand
it's easier to understand
though both slip through your fingers
regret often lingers
and leaves you with nothing in hand

charcoal pigeon is a smidgeon
on a cotton candy branch
she's a dove in your religion
keep expecting her to blanch
and deliver peace on Earth
with it Spring, and a rebirth

Author notes: image from Pinterest

There is a forest that exists:
abandoned trails, forgotten beasts,
where tiny streams play well-tuned chimes.
Witches and fairies talk in rhymes;
they trade you wishes for a kiss,
and promise you eternal bliss.

Author notes: image from Facebook

Cranes fly south for the winter
as souls crack and splinter
ice creeps into veins
until no love remains
Crane -- do find other work
and come back as a stork!

Author notes: Artwork is by Chie Yoshii

before Dr. Phil's, pills and Oprah
when music was concert and opera
and opera wasn't for soap
just how did we manage to cope
and what did we do with our laundry
please answer me this little quandary

"Picture yourself", said the travel brochure.
Sunsets so pretty, and water so pure,
Mediterranean, AirBnB,
perfect to write your to be, not to be.

Author notes: image from Facebook

Be it llama or alpaca
on the lake of Titicaca
you will see a world that was
be no stranger to the cause,
even though you're just a tourist,
to preserve it in its purest.

Author notes: image from nationalgeographic.com

belly full of laughs
no substitute for dinner
cried the omnivore