Limerick Story – Four Verses

Yesterday a comma came to my door

A colon offered to sweep my living room floor

None of this made any sense

I looked out and saw an apostrophe leap my fence

After all this a period brought itself to the fore

I must admit I have writer’s block

That’s why punctuation came to my door to flock

They wanted merely to come to my aid

All they found were my pages filleted

What I’d written so far was just drivel and a crock

My idea for a mystery came to naught

The killer was way too early caught

The whole story ended way too soon

And why did I make the culprit an obvious goon

In the way of suspense there was not a lot

The punctuation arrived just in time

I have a neat house and my tale’s beginning to shine

Some of my commas have got to go

And all the apostrophe’s* in plurals are a no no

The periods say that readers dislike rhyme

*apostrophe added for effect, and “poetic” license.

Nothing to do with the post, I just like the photo.   😊

Old and Young

Old oak teaches young,

History

Many greats ancestors,

Fossilized.

Pressed between limestone

Pages.

Of megaannums,

Myth,

As well, truth.

Chapters buried under layers of

Stone, earth.

Time, the

Author

————

Age, young tree cannot

Fathom.

Then, fathoms of seas,

Deep

Old says, where we stand,

Once water.

She tells Young,

More years,

Many more years will go

By.

You will grow tall,

Elegant, she

Says.

Robins will nest in your

Branches.

Families.

They are trees of another kind

———-

Old says, now rain is on its

Way

Our thirst will be

Quenched.

———-

Young says, Elder,

Tomorrow will you tell me more

Stories?

I want to

Listen.

Old Trees and Young

A River At Night

A River at gloaming,

Then,

Night.

Movement.

Away from village.

Toward forested

Secrets,

Wildlife, resting or

Hunting?

Moonlight, dimmed but

Reckless.

River rushes,

Works.

The art of its voice,

As nighttime narrative.

Its journey disguises sounds,

Of lovers

Coupling,

Of ancient stones come to

Life.

Fabric of water, smooth silken

Shadows,

Cobalt, silver.

Its destination,

The tides.

Swallowed by sea dragons guarding

Their

Keeps.

Keeping their confidences.

Aspiring to conquer fire breathing

Islands.

The tales they could tell of River At Night.

A River in Daytime. It likely has its own secrets.

Beetles, Wasps, Mosquitoes, Oh My!

A Lady Beetle’s spotted

Dress

Lucky red with tiny black

Sequins

Aphid on rose leaf, soon to her

Belly

Stroke of lovely

Fortune

———-

June Bug’s front porch

Journey

Villain or misunderstood?

Both?

To bullfrog, delicious

Snack

A bugger in dread of human foot

Crunch

———-

Paper Wasp, origami

Builder

Stinger outfitted, nature’s predator or

Helper?

Both?

Fraidy cat girl runs

Away

Little bro’s path,

Blocked! Overdue

Apology

———-

One mosquito – sleepless

Night

Buzz, buzz. That theremin

Whine

Lights on. A search high/

Low

Lights on/

Off

Blood sucking hide/seek

Expert

Annoyed girl’s theremin

Whine

———-

Summer’s insects, the stories they could tell!

If they

Survive.  

———-

Sometimes Aphids rest here.  Alas, so do Lady Beetles

Soon Summer

Damselfly,

By another name

Darns blades of grass,

Sometime dowser –

Water lover.

———-

Rose bush spider.

Ruefully,

Eyes flies

Her familiar,

Her precious silk.

Weaves.

Waits.

Incautious prey

Plus

Fiber, magical.

———-

Morning, misted.

Clover makes bare feet feel,

Welcome.

Buzzing bumbles cast spells,

Meditative,

Calm.

———–

Remember,

Look up!

Wandering Cirrus.

Cumulonimbus.

———–

Towhees, fledged.

Crows, eyes peeled.

Their throaty, murderous

Song.

Open windows, breezes,

Blue satin, shenanigans.

———–

Choose your own adventure,

A novel in stories,

Shade of maples,

Love under weeping.

Willows.

Couples part.

Couples join.

———–

The tales Summer could tell.

Of a Summer Evening

Love Seasons

Darkness rain falling

Daisy petals sweet chanting

He loves not loves me?

Sunrise raindrops cease

Daisy’s center sunshine song

Loves me bright yellow

Snowfall white velvet

Paperwhites’  leaning forlorn

Love as confusion

Periwinkle peeking

Renewal vernal waking

Passion evergreen

Steadfast love certain

In ultramarine satin

Tango daring red

Merlot warmth comfort

Onyx carnelian and pearls

Evenings slow dancing

Loves Me Not Loves Me

About What Should I Write?

Sometimes, when you wake up on a Monday morning, and it’s overcast, and you want sun instead, you feel like writing a super silly rhyme story in limerick form, in maybe three verses. So, here you go. It’s kinda rainy outside, but my imagination needs an outlet inside.

Should I write about a chair?

One that’s pink with unusual flair?

Or a chair with no back that’s really a stool?

And sit on it in the morning when I eat my gruel?

Or should I write about a secret lair.. one where in private, instead of shaving my legs, I use Nair*?

What if I write about a car that’s blue?

One that’s shaped like a Mary Jane shoe?

One that reaches a super high speed?

And will let no other race car take the lead?

Or how about a bright orange flatbed that’s new?

What if I write about a dress?

One on which I’ve spilled, and made a really stained mess?

One that was ivory and now looks brown?

One that now matches my dirty tin crown

But then I could write about how I like Lima beans, I confess.

*Nair is a copyrighted, trademarked, or whatever, product, and should be utilized when you wear short shorts.

About what should I write?

Dangers – Haiku In Eleven Verses

Rose without acanth

Of a love’s softness unpierced

But secret dangers

Red stilettos pair

On backstreet cobblestones click

Meeting of lovers

Wisteria parts

Opened floral curtain door

Set corner table

Absinthe awaits kiss

Beware its false possession

Trickster cocktail strong

Whispers I love you

But warnings of winds and cold

Raven sees stirring

Tuxedoed lover

Danger a deceitful tale

Fool’s gold diamond set

Not logical love

Retrieved a crumpled parchment

Wrinkles pressed unfold

Flaws firm accepted

But corvid’s warning repeat

Voice of thorn careless

Caution danger here

A past’s thistle sting secret

Hidden betrayal

Maddening disguise

Triangles befuddle

Isoceles hex

To hexagon spell

Indiscretions’ clumsy spills

Hurricane feelings

————–

Blue sky with rolling cumulus

Spring Breakfast

Among spent dandelions –

A little finch

Her morning repast.

Spring season, and a spring in her tiny step.

Then sated –

Time to move on.

Ahead of me in her day –

I’ve yet to arise and move on with my day.

I daydream

I wonder where she flies..

First Davis Pond, Guilford, Maine

I Spy a Getaway

Duncan! Slow down! We’re far from the building and safe!

No, we’re not out of the woods yet. Stella is clever. I thought I knew everything about her, but I was wrong. Jesus, was I wrong.

I freak out, but only a little, and I say,

But wait! Explain why she wants to kill me. What is all this about? She’s the mole, isn’t she? I knew she was up to no good! She was a scheming shithead when we were in school together.

Duncan says,

I’ve always known she’s a bit devious, but people like her always do well in these kinds of espionage jobs. But Stella’s a little too underhanded and forgot whose side she’s on.

You mean, she “forgot”?

Okay. Yes, she “forgot”.

Duncan takes his hands off the wheel to imitate my air quotes. I really need to stop doing that. I even get irritated with me now. But this does make him slow down once he puts his hands back on the steering wheel.

I say, okay, Dunc. Let’s both slow down, breathe deeply and talk normally. So, what’s the deal?

We’re really close to Joan Lake. We’ll settle in, you can get Kristina and her stuff inside and we’ll have a martini or two. Then I’ll explain all.

You know, Duncan, I’ve lived in and around Portland my whole life, and I’ve never heard of Joan Lake. You say we’re almost there, and we’ve only been on the road for fifteen minutes. What the … ?

You’ve never heard of it because, it’s, well… it’s in another world, so to speak.

I say nothing. I take out my phone and try to Google “Joan Lake.” Nothing. In fact, my screen goes blank.

He says,

You won’t find it there anyway. There are no bars here, and your phone won’t work. Well, there are sort of bars, but we call them saloons.

I look at him like he’s out of his mind, and he says, I’m serious, Gretchen. Type the word, universe, all in little letters, an en dash, then the numbers, 59653. Then you’ll have service.

I do this. The numbers show up in green across my screen, and bingo! At the very top, I see four tiny brown old American west style saloons. I roll my eyes, because, well, this is ridiculous, and I look up from my phone to realize Duncan has parked in a circular drive in front of a palatial house. I’m speechless. Almost.

Ah, so Joan Lake is the name of this house? This place is something; definitely not a cabin! Is it some kind of a retirement home for spies like us?

First, we’re nowhere near retirement, and no, this is a safehouse of sorts. No one from Portland can get near us here.

But what about people from San Diego, Fargo, St. Paul, Boston, …?

You know what I mean. No one from the other side.

No, Duncan. I don’t know what you mean. I want that drink, and I want you to tell me everything. Understand? I want to know it all.

All right. I hear you. Let’s go in.

I take Kristina in her carrier out of the back seat along with my purse and backpack. Duncan retrieves his few things, and we go to the door. He doesn’t take out a key, but places his right palm below the brass door knocker and says the words, “hot Seckcee oysters and honey.”

I laugh so hard tears begin to roll. I did not sign up for this ludicrousness. He’s playing some kind of a joke. It has to be a joke. I mean, it does, right? Then I say it,

Duncan, what the everloving hell!?

Just be patient, Gretchen.

The door opens, and we walk in. The foyer is smaller than I expected, but beautiful. A housekeeper enters from a room to the right, and says,

Welcome, Duncan, Ms. Foss, and Kristina.

Duncan says, Gretchen, meet our housekeeper, Anna.

Anna smiles at me, but I feel wary. She reminds me of the housekeeper in North By Northwest, and I shiver slightly.

She says, Come with me Ms. Foss. I’ll show you to your suite, and your closets.

Duncan excuses himself and says, I’ll be in the library for awhile, and then I’ll meet you in the sitting room, Gretchen. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything then.

We smile at each other, and I feel at least some relief. I let Kristina out of her carrier, and she and I follow Anna up the stairs on the left. I think, Anna said she’d show me my “suite and closets”. Then I remember I only packed enough for two days, also that I left Kristina’s stuff out in the car.

We reach the top the stairs and take a right, and go into the second room on the left.

Anna says, this is the wisteria room, and I feel like I have to touch the walls. Yep. It’s just wall paper, but it’s like trompe l’oeil. Like I can feel the petals. Like the vines and blooms are coming out of the walls. She asks if I like it, and says that Duncan’s grandmother made and painted the paper.

Then, she says the room is all mine for the length of my stay, and the three closets full of clothes are mine.

I want to say, so you knew I was coming, and for longer than a couple of days, but I don’t get the chance. She goes to exit, but turns and says, Duncan will be across the hall when you’re ready.

I say, well, Kristina, let’s have a look. I realize she’s already hopped up on the bed and made herself at home. I go to look in the closest closet. Are all these clothes really my size? I think back over the last twenty four hours, and it’s all a blur. I feel I’ve lost all sense of time going by. Is it tomorrow yet? It should be late at night. Dunc and I left town right before the potluck was supposed to start. But, I look out the big side window and see full sun like it’s noon, and I have a big headache. No time to nap, though. I need to go see Duncan and find out what this place is and what’s really going on.

I open the door to head across the hall, and decide I’ll take Kristina with me. I think of the potluck and what’s happening or happened there?

The sitting room door is wide open. Duncan is on his phone. I hear him say his sister, Veronica’s name. He says, so sis, what do we do about Stella?

I sink into a deep blue velvet chair, and Kristina leaps up to my lap.

Duncan says to Veronica, do we have any choice but to kill her?

**********

Meanwhile, back at the potluck..

To Be Continued..