This is me, ascending to new heights. Above, the theme for National Poetry Writing Month, April 2018. In keeping with this theme, my own offerings will be appearing on these pages. (Disclaimer: if you see your name, do not fret; it's all made up, you can bet.)
1) Sunday, April 1st. A little limerick to kick this off.
There was a young woman named Betty,
Who tried to pole-dance in her teddy;
Her routine was a farse,
And she slipped on her arse,
'Cause her hands were unusually sweaty.
(I tried to warn you ...)
2) Monday, April 2nd. I will deviate from simplistic rhyme ...
Things that are not
I. HMO - Health Maintenance Organization.
Is neither organized, nor maintaining your health;
let us call it what it is: Hustle Money Opportunism.
II. Orange Peeler - A plastic device to score skin.
On my way to the Tupperware party, I actually went,
with the idea of scoring a free gift, and bugging out;
I've never cared for storing my food in plastic,
even though they tell me it is leach-free and safe;
Besides, it comes in nifty colors, with a lid that goes, "burp,"
as I do, from scarfing down sacrificial food fresh made,
and stored in all those pretty nesting bowls;
Now I am part of the inert plastic, as are oysters -- poisoned,
from other plastic that was supposed to be safe;
I ponder this, as I have another pastry, and watch the hostess,
spinning salads and counting up her profits on a score-pad;
The things I love are being poisoned by plastics, trapped in bottle-nets, bloated by styrofoam beads, and yet, there are cookies;
I not spend, yet handed a gift on the way out the door:
a yellow stick for peeling oranges, or other citrus (not bananas);
And now, years later, I've lost the damned thing;
Maybe it will turn up in a fish somewhere, or,
hidden in a landfill, get lodged in the foot of a marauding bear,
making that hairy monster very crabby; no matter,
it didn't peel oranges anyway.