Your brilliant flashlight
shines upon the evening sky
This never grows old

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Oh evil heart I’ll never know
the depth of bitterness you taste.
What makes your acrimony grow?

What seeds of sickness did you sow?
With what was innocence debased?
Oh evil heart I’ll never know.

The slate’s unscathed at birth, although
your soul and hate seem interlaced.
What makes your acrimony grow?

Did you resist the undertow?
From whence are your beginnings traced?
Oh evil heart I’ll never know.

Since self-reflection’s apropos
perhaps your mirror’s been misplaced?
What makes your acrimony grow?

Concern for you may overflow,
but hope, I fear, has been erased.
Oh evil heart I’ll never know
what makes your acrimony grow.

******** The form is a villanelle. The rhyme scheme is as follows: A1bA2 abA1 abA2 abA1 abA2 abA1A2 A1 is the first refrain and A2 is the second.

Three autumns ago on a Halloween night
with the moon barely sharing a sliver of light,
young Templeton stalked through the neighborhood streets
in his Lucifer costume, no bag for his treats.
As Templeton strutted down Rookery Road
the children all acted as if he’d explode
which made him walk taller and narrow his gaze.
He determined his targets: the pumpkin displays.
He started with house number one fifty-four
where six of his marks lit a path to the door.
Undaunted by witnesses standing around
he picked up and hurled every gourd to the ground.
With subsequent smashings his smile grew slyer.
Every home he hit after increased his desire.
He ravaged his way to house one ninety-eight
where a brittle old woman stood guarding her gate.
She constantly petted the pumpkin she held.
From its openings lavender gasses expelled.
But Templeton’s focus stayed fixed on the prize.
If only he’d heeded the gatekeeper’s cries.
Her cautions of Karma rejected, instead –
he wore what she’d held in her hands on his head!
As he pushed and he pulled the woman said, “Son,
once punishment’s meted, it’s never undone.”

This is an entry for the Fall Writing Frenzy run by Kaitlyn Sanchez and Lydia Lukidis. The rules for the contest are here: https://lydialukidis.wordpress.com/fall-writing-frenzy-contest-2020/

WHY I CANT RHYME WITH ORANGE

Since April’s when the poet’s pen and craft is on display,
I’ve made the choice to add my voice and celebrate each day.
Though, since I wrote, “Don’t aim for near, but perfect every time.”
I cannot think of any verse to match this paradigm.

WHAT I WILL NEVER BE

I’m not so good with facing death.
I’ll never be a doctor.
Since too much silence drives me nuts,
I’ll never be a proctor.

I won’t be teaching preschool kids;
I’ve little luck with whiners.
I’m rather fond of sleeping in,
so it’s a no for diners.

Because my sense of smell is strong,
I can’t work in a gym.
Which also means with fishing boats,
my chances there are slim.

Since I can’t hide my feelings well,
with acting, there’s a doubt,
and sitting still is not my strength
so, driving trucks is out.

I could go on and on and on
with things I will not do,
but Mother says to not decide
‘til puberty is through.

JUST IN TIME

The deadline is looming.
My chores, all consuming.
My words? Mostly zooming
with no thought of rooming
together in verse.

With nervousness rising
(this fact not surprising),
my sense is surmising
I’d best be devising
to deal with this curse.

With minutes remaining
and intellect waning,
I’m done with complaining.
I’m writing (or feigning)
for better or worse.

POLLEN PROBLEMS

Sally stretched her wings, then circled and spun through the air.

“My very first taste of spring!” she sang as she made a beeline for the crocuses.

“Achoo! A-ah-AHH-CHOO!” Sally’s eyes watered; her vision blurred, and she landed not on the purple flowers, but in a puddle!

She sat up and flitted her wings.

Her fellow foragers buzzed about her asking, “Sally, what happened?”

“I wish I knew!” she said.

Once dried, she flew toward the flowers again.

“Achoo! A-ah-AHH-CHOO!” Her eyes watered; her vision blurred, and she landed…back in the puddle! “For the love of nectar!”

“Could it be,” a friend asked, “you have allergies?”

“Whoever heard of a honeybee with allergies? I’ve failed at foraging!” she said as she smacked her wings in the water.

After some thought, Sally dried her wings, flew straight up and spun through the air. “But imagine what a great scout I’ll bee!”

150 words

Image source: https://media0.giphy.com/media/MDlyDajuzdq3mlfvFf/source.gif

This is an entry for The Spring Fling Contest. The requirements were to write a 150 word (or less) story for children ages 12 and under about spring and inspired by a GIF. If you would like to enter, go to this link: https://ciaraoneal.weebly.com/spring-fling-kidlit-contest.

ON SECOND THOUGHT

What kind of creep
tells you to leap
when all that can be seen
‘twixt where you stand
and lower land’s
a mile in between?

I thought we made
the perfect pair,
my jelly to his toast.
Of late I’ve learned
his toast is burned
and crumbles more than most.

I’d like to push
him off the cliff,
but think the best solution
is try to…
Oh, never mind —
I’ll pray for absolution!

Bless Us!

Oh how quickly the mighty have fallen
from inhaling the powders of pollen,
though the lesser of us have as well
heard the clang of this element’s bell,
when our histamines rise up to fight
without care for our breathing or sight.
In this battle we’re coughin’ and wheezin’,
oft’, annoyingly, down for the season.

Mental Soap

So one may cope,
no need to tope
(nor turn to dope).
Don’t look into
the microscope.
and only on
occasion mope.
In darkness grope
to find the rope –
it’s in your scope…
then pull.

You’ll see. it is
attached to HOPE.