POW

Bow Tie

Brown or blue,
Old or new,
Wool or silk – a touch of style and grace.
Tied or not,
In stripe or dot,
Each one puts a smile upon my face.

Acrostic

All kinds of poems are
Cool, but this type is
Really interesting because if you look
Over at the letters going
Straight down
The left side of the page, the first
Initials spell out a word, or may even
Contain a message.

In the Pockets of My Cargo Shorts

A photo of my schnauzer, Dave, and one of Richard Nixon,
A cell phone from eight years ago that needs a little fixin’,
Half a double cheeseburger, half a pint of soup,
A soggy, old toupee I found that smells a bit like poop.

A deck of cards, eleven cents, a salamander, dice,
Seashells, a  harmonica that’s old, but pretty nice.
Duct tape, Scotch tape, French tape, and a yo-yo (minus string).
What’s inside my pockets? Well, you might say everything.

My Cat Bytes

Some cats like to prowl,
and some even growl,
while others would rather take naps.
But my Mrs. Mittens –
an internet kitten — is
fonder of laptops than laps.

Unlike other cats,
this one downloads and chats
and is constantly checking her e-mail.
An ad she has posted
has recently boasted
she’s a young single Siamese female.

With paws soft and quick,
she’ll type and she’ll click,
so some research or maybe some shopping.
She bookmarks new sites,
she surfs and she writes,
or she’ll scan in some photos for swapping.

It’s simply absurd,
she’s an internet nerd,
who ignores all the rest of the house.
What cat would admit
it would ever see fit
to enjoy so much time with a mouse?

On Brown Road

Mrs. Darden loves her garden.
Ms. Matousek teaches music.
Mr. Gattan speaks Pig Latin.
Mrs. Triechel owns a cycle.
Dr. Taylor was a sailor.
Mrs. Durken’s always workin’.
Miss Garcia drives a Kia.
Mr. Austin moved from Boston.
Miss McDuggle likes to juggle.
Mrs. Manak’s a mechanic.
Mr. Pride cooks outside.
Mrs. Miles always smiles.

My Father’s Mustache

My father’s mustache is the largest in town,
It’s bigger than all of the others.
It grows all along the width of his face
And continues right on to his brother’s.

I Can’t Find My Thesaurus

I can’t find my thesaurus—
I’m really quite disturbed:
Aggravated, agitated,
angry and perturbed.

Whoever came and borrowed it:
Return it straightaway,
Instantly, directly,
Right this minute! Now!!  Today!!!

It’s Raining Adjectives!

Hey, look! It’s raining adjectives—
It’s pouring plain and fancy,
It’s dripping dark and dangerous,
Mysterious and chancy.

My hat is drenched in jubilant
The puddles pop with jumpy
my socks are soaked with squishy, stinky,
soggy, soft, and lumpy.

The gutter’s overflowing too
with spooky, strange, and sneaky,
The drain is backing up with loaded,
laughable and leaky.

It’s coming down with clamorous,
Cantankerous and clunky,
It’s sprinkling splendiferous,
fantabulous and funky.

The weatherman looks skyward,
As he shouts, “What’s up? What gives?
It isn’t raining cats and dogs—
It’s raining adjectives!”

The Mind

Memory is like
a room where tiny boxes
hold our yesterdays.

Haiku

When you’ve written one
Without enough syllables,
You add words. Football.