The Phone Rang

He was in the shower when the phone rang.

It was her.

Her name flashed on the screen for a long minute, before the call ended and the screen went blank.

I followed him this time. He said he was out to meet some friends.

I followed her home afterwards. After they left the hotel. Him before her.

I watched her through her picture windows. Calling up whoever was next on the list. Feeding her cat. Paying the delivery guy from a local restaurant. Turning up some balmy music. Twirling gracefully, like a ballerina playing a swan.

My own bow legs, ugly feet no match.

Then her husband came home. Along with the kids. No taller than the fence that surrounded their lovely home.

One of them with my husband’s eyes.

And I saw her world go up in flames as I dropped the letter through the letter slot in her front door and went off to pack my bags.

Curiosity Killed Her Cat

Curiosity went on a holiday
And left her cat (called Kat) behind.
Her absence,
How it nearly killed him,
He had gotten so very feline.
He munched on this,
And gnawed on that,
Till he could munch or gnaw no more.
He sighed so deep,
And went to sleep,
And rose he nevermore.

 

Stuffy Nose

Half of a whole 

Few of a many 

Would a square peg    fit in a hole 

 

If it’s tini-mini?

If you ask this little girl

She’ll tell you a strict “no”. No! No! No!

Don’t try it at home,

Or you’ll see doctors and forceps,

And tears will rush out!

 

Time

June called

It’s missing May.

But time,

Still it never stays.

Plead, cry,

I could do them all,

But time, its feet

Will keep marching on.

Little Tiny Creatures

Little tiny creatures
Live under my bed.
You can’t see them,
But they’re not inside my head.
They know the words to Bonnie,
Who lies on ocean bed.
They pitter patter in the night
And tell me tales of dead.
Come morn they hide,
Cast a spell so wide,
Yes, much worse than Snow White’s,
And that’s why I’m always late.

Forgetful Dictionary

I am a forgetful dictionary,
I lie on the shelf forgotten.
Within my pages
Are words lost to ages,
Like woebegone, and wherry, whiff,
Or, hey, wait a minute,
Was it whodunitry or misbegotten?

 

One Word

One word.
One word is enough
To end this agony.
Like the parched earth
Thirsts for water,
My ears yearn for it.

One word
To break the heat,
To unleash the storms,
To release the anguish from gaping rifts.
Like mist rising to kiss the stars goodbye.

One word
To sweep away the cold,
To set the frozen lakes and woods
Dancing, alit in the merry breeze
With starlight, dust motes, pollen, seeds.

One word
That’s all it’d take.
But like the last snowflake of the season,
Refusing to thaw,
It stays at the very edge of your frozen lips.

You See Your Future Coming

You see your future coming.
A train rolling into the station
Minutes before it does.
Do you board it?
Do you leave it?
Do you let it pass?
Watching, wondering
What would be if you were to board not this but another one?
Or do you seize the moment,
Set aside your fears,
And get moving,
Trusting the universe
To beat in rhythm with your soul?

Look Beyond Yourself Now

You wake up and you’re running,
Every day is the same.
You time yourself for ‘morrow,
But the best days are insane.

If you look beyond yourself now,
You’ll see the sky, the stars.
The birds are in the ocean,
Their wings unfurled on your back.

On Laughter and Men

It is said that a man’s disposition can be ascertained by his quickness to laugh. Laugh too soon and you’re a frivolous, eager to please; laugh too long, or too loud, and you’ve got no self-restrain.

Too late a laugh, often a scoff or a grunt, warranties that you are given to brooding, and are altogether too self-absorbed, only re-entering the conversation when a snippet breaks through your musings, or furthers them, with quips that have more than often no bearing on the actual conversation at hand.

No laugh and/or a frown, and you’re either a bore or a fool, too slow-witted to follow the clever retorts, or a snob, who’d rather be in the company of other, more interesting people than this.

But a laugh, full and hearty, that graces magnanimously all who fall in its path, that eases the crinkles in agitated spirits, and that lights the amber within one and all, now that’s different. Its timber, its rise and fall the very symphony of life itself. Its infectious presence a reminder that life’s a merry carnival and we are all here to rejoice.

The bearer of this laugh — sitting upright on a high-back armchair, shoulders thrown back in easy debate over the future of literature and the written word, lit delightfully by a Moroccan lamp stand in the corner, and surrounded by eager ears — could be called charming, good-natured, well-groomed, a lady’s man.

But whether he is a gentleman or a cad, to be taken seriously or dismissed as the season’s new flavor, I cannot tell. Only time could resolve this debate; although good sense, as documented in the novels of which he is such a fan, at once warns us to the folly of trusting such a man. For many lies have slipped past such a welcoming mouth. Many an endearment casually offered without a second thought.

He smiles warmly at me, like I am the only one in the room, and for now, in the absence of better prospects and good company, it is enough to bask in the brightness of this merry man.