Color Me Happy Series — Orange

Welcome to my second poem in this series.
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ORANGE

Orange is the only color I don’t like.
I’m not exactly sure why that should be.
I love the color red, and that is pretty close.
And often something pink will pleasure me.

But orange — well it somehow seems to agitate.
It makes me restless and so out-of-sorts.
And I feel bad, because it isn’t orange’s fault,
So I do orange occasionally just to be a sport.

But there are some orange things of which I am a fan:
The round, ripe, juicy fruit that we pluck from a tree,
The brightly orange-wrapped Reese’s peanut butter cups,
And candy corn eaten by the handfuls pleasure me.
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Color Me Happy Series — Yellow

I’ve written a few poems about colors, but not a complete rainbow. This past week, however, I started considering writing a whole series. I decided to challenge myself with that endeavor and to put together a group of at least 10 ‘color’ poems, including one each for black and white. I’ll use the others I’ve already written as a jumping off place, and as the first in this series I offer my “Yellow” poem.

YELLOW

YELLOW

Yellow sun, yellow moon,
Yellow ribbon on yellow balloon;

Yellow crayons for coloring,
Yellow bird that chirps and sings.

Yellow squash ripe on the vine,
Yellow daffodils — all mine.

Yellow hair, with cheeks so pink,
Yellow lemonade to drink;

Yellow duckies, yellow chicks,
Yellow grapefruit freshly picked;

Yellow butter drips and drops
From tender, yellow corn-on-cob.

Yellow curtains, crisp and bright,
Yellow anti-bug porch light;

But yellow has its ugly side:
Yellow fever; could have died;

Yellow-bellied, yellow streak,
Yellow-livered, backbone weak.

And sometimes yellow can’t be seen:
It hides in blue and turns to green.

 

 

 

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Lorraine In Love

There once was a girl named Loraine
Who was wild for engineers of trains.
They could be short or tall;
Loraine just loved them all;
To have one for her own was her aim.

Now, the guys who drove trains all agreed
That Loraine was no prize; no indeed;
So precautions they’d take,
Each to make his escape
When Loraine for a date came to plead.

Then a young engineer came to town
Who was clueless when she came around.
He became so beguiled
When right at him she smiled,
That right then on one knee he went down.

Oh the wedding was really a beut.
On a honeymoon now they’re enroute.
As they sit side by side
Engineer and his bride.
Down the tracks, at full throttle, they scoot.

There’s a moral to this little tale:
That a woman in love never fails.
If she’s made up her mind
And she’s true to her kind,
It’s the end for those poor, helpless males.

 

 

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Candy Love

I just can’t seem to tell him how I feel.
Hearing myself say the words
Makes it seem so real.
And if he doesn’t feel the same for me,
It would be an unhappy fate
That spoken words would seal.

So what to do about it I’m unsure.
I’ve thought of possibilities
But nothing quite secure.
But wait! I’ve found the answer to my need:
I’ll say it with some candy hearts —
So childlike, sweet, and pure.

 

 

 

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Sardines Swimming Upstream – Tso’i

Going up?
We’re squeezed in pretty tight.
A claustrophobic feeling threatens to erupt.
We’re sardines in a can:
All sealed up.

 

(If you’re not familiar yet with this new poetic form that I created last year, you’ll find information about it at this link. Maybe you’d like to try writing Tso’i yourself.  If you do, feel free to leave a link to your poem in the “Comments” section below.)

 

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photo courtesy of Tama66 @pixabay.com

 

 

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Primal Urge

I have a little note pad, new, with polka dots.
Teal green with border shiny gold and golden spots.
And since I’m one who writes to live and lives to write,
As soon as I beheld it, ’twas love at first sight.

There’s something mystical about a virgin page.
And notebooks filled with pages pure my soul engage.
It’s calling me, this tablet with gold polka dots.
But subject matter — what to write — I know not what.

Frustratedly, I sit here, holding pen in hand,
Seeking words to start a poem — something grand.
This primal urge to slather ink across the page
Is in control ’til its demands I can assuage.

It could take hours, or even days, but what care I?
So many times I’ve let whole days go drifting by,
Until my muse and I fin’ly came into sync,
And thus inspired, I filled each pristine page with ink.

 

 

 

 

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Christmas Haiku – Day 3 – Eggnog Nap

My friends egged me on.
So I had a second cup.
Now I’m nogging off.

 

 

 

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photo courtesy of Jill111 @ pixabay.com

 

 

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Solving Crime From My Armchair

 

I love a good “who-done-it”
For my reading time.
Mystery on a light scale —
Not obnoxious crime.

A cozy mystery fits my
Laid-back frame of mind.
I have to think a little —
When I feel inclined.

I’m quite a good detective
Sitting in my chair.
So villains in the fiction world
Now had best beware.

In fact, I’m now so good
The mysteries to unwind
I’ve put my application in
Down at precinct nine.

 

 

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Eating Fish Will Increase Your IQ

 

The most intelligent animal is a fish.
And I’m so proud to say that I am one.
To merit such acclaim all others wish,
But fish win out when all is said and done.

How do I know my claims are proven fact,
Especially since there are no written rules?
Why, others live in herds and flocks and packs,
But fish have brains enough to live in schools.*
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*Before a fish is allowed to graduate from college, he must memorize the entire text of Moby Dick. It’s part of the curriculum that teaches the fish species’ superiority to man.

 

 

 

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Confession in Cinquain

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Ahhh, gee!
I’ve had no views.
No visitors today.
But I wrote no new verse for them:
My fault.

 

 

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A Gate To . . . ?

A gate to wherever your imagination wants to take you.

 

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photo: Terry Valley, Visions Seen Photography

Garbage Day Meditation

The garbage truck has come and gone,
My empty cans roll to and fro.
I need to go out to the street
And haul them back where they should go.
It won’t be long until I’ve placed
A few more bags of trash within.
And next week, once again, I’ll roll
Them to the curb for the truck again.
I’m not alone in this pursuit;
My neighbors, they are all like me.
And every week in every town,
We feed the garbage truck faithfully.
It seems there’s just no way to live
Without creating tons of trash.
And what becomes of all that stuff
Is something I don’t want to ask.
I find, though, that I worry some
That years and years of garbage days
Might heap the trash so deep and high
That Earth just might get thrown away.

 

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photo courtesy of Netkid @ pixabay.com

 

 

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Love Ditty

Love is a giggle.

Love is a sigh.

Love makes you wiggle.

Love makes you high.

Lovin’ makes me hungry.

Lovin’ makes me glad.

When love is unfaithful.

Love makes me mad.

Love’s not for wimps.

Love’s for the bold.

Love’s good when young.

Love’s better when old.

 

 

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photo courtesy of ErikaWittleib @ pixabay.com

 

 

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Easy Lovin’

Come away with me
To an intimate place.
I’ve kisses to spare
And an ardent embrace.
No, wait! You’re the wrong guy;
I just saw your face.
From the back you looked like him,
But I spoke in haste.
But, heck, why not wait here;
You know — just in case.
If he doesn’t show up,
You can just take his place.

 

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I know: it lacks class. But I was just in one of those moods.  🙂

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graphics: Jo-B @ pixabay.com

 

 

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A Whale of a Tale

Another old one that I dug out this week and decided to share on this newest site.
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There’s a whale of a tale I could tell you,
But I don’t know if you’ll think it’s true.
It’s the story of one man named Jonah,
Who did something we should never do.

Long ago in a Mid-Eastern country,
He was given a mission by God.
But Jonah, after thinking it over,
Decided that he’d rather not.

So … he jumped on a ship going elsewhere,
Thinking from the great God he could hide.
That was stupid, of course, ’cause we all know:
God sees all and knows what’s inside.

Soon, alas, a great storm hit the old ship,
And the sailors were panicked with fear.
When, at last, Jonah stood to face his fate,
It was without shedding a tear.

Overboard then the sailors did throw him,
And for a quick end he did wish.
But instead a big whale gulped him right down,
As if he were a regular fish.

What to do, what to do, he did wonder,
Sloshing ’round in the digestive juice.
But it didn’t take long, as he pondered,
To decide that he’d better pray through.

So he called out to God in repentance,
And he worshiped Creator most high.
Then when God heard his plea, He had mercy;
Told the whale, “Spit him out high and dry.”

Then old Jonah, much wiser by this time,
Set off quickly to do what God bid.
And the story turned out satisfactorily,
But he never went fishing again.

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Based on the book of Jonah, Holy Bible

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Just a Little Whimsy for a Busy Day

 

There’s just too much to do.
Much too much to do.
How can I see it through?
It’s making me feel blue.

In truth, I’ll have to say
That I’d just rather play.
On such a busy day,
Why would I feel this way?

I do procrastinate.
I’d like to think it’s fate.
But, actu’lly, I’m just late.
Why do I let stuff wait???

The clock is ticking on,
And most of morning’s gone.
Get busy, Sandra, hon.
And get your dang stuff done!!!

 

 

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I Think I’ll Write A Poem

(This piece is one I wrote years ago, but I feel like giving it a fresh airing.)

 

I think I’ll write a poem …
Type, type, type …
Words, words, words …

‘Twill have to be a story …
Type, type, type …
Words, words, words …

No … I guess a novel …
Type, type, type …
Words, words, words …

A saga will be better …
Type, type, type …
Words, words, words …

A trilogy is called for …
Type, type, type …
Words, words, words …

My editor now reads it …
Delete, delete, delete …
Delete, delete, delete …

I have a two-line stanza.

 

 

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Lazy Cinquain

 

Easy.
Sounds good to me.
I like things effortless.
Avoiding all that causes strain:
Lazy.

 

 

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The Cinquain Truth About Summer

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Summer:
My nemesis,
My yearly enemy.
In such heat and humidity
I’m steamed!

 

 

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graphic by A-r-e-s @ pixabay.com

Sweaty Cinquain

Alas!
Summer’s coming.
I can’t escape hot air.
Auto air-conditioner is
Broken.

 

 

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Daily Post Prompt: Broken