Word Perfect

Sometimes it's hard to find just the right word. 

Word Perfect

A plethora of Words enpeople my brain

Clamoring and crying an ancient refrain,

“Pick me, choose me, I am the one”

A quotidian word? Nah, that’s just no fun.

No ifs ands or buts, for this is the day

To pick Words packed with drama, yet small in their way

Like quest, lust, and prowl or love, tryst and star

One syllable Words that transport you afar

No time for Words that take up much space

They mean very little, but show a good face

You know what I mean, those exsufflicate boors

Pulchritudinous, brobdingnagian, sartorial whores

Words that can dance and never confuse,

Those are the ones that we humans should use

Or Words wrapped in senses and plush vibrant hues:

Like periwinkle, lavender, azure and chartreuse.

Languorous Words which are dusky and hazy

Stroll through the brain and make you feel lazy

Whimsical fripperies engendering tongue-tickles

Like when you say gewgaw, kerfuffle or pickles

But the Word for today, that one that I choose:

With yearning and hope and romance infused:

Casts Iridescent shadows and hearts free of strife:

Quixotically tilting at the windmills of life.

Quixotic

March Birthday Dogs

Minions' Lament

Thanks to a writers' workshop and some excellent feedback from my fantatstic husband, below I present the lovingly polished poem about those hapless twins, Cecily and Gwendolyn:

Minions' Lament

“Psst, Gwendolyn, what is the deal?

Neglected and ignored I’m beginning to feel.”

“I’ve tried mewing and winking and wriggling my rear

but, Cecily, I think, no one cares that we're here.”

There's a new cat in town; nothing's the same

He makes us so mad; Punim's his name

They kiss him and coddle him and bedeck him with jewels

They fête him with sushi; he follows no rules.

We owned this house before he arrived

We strutted and feasted and both of us thrived

Now, no more kisses, no more creamed caviar

Punim, the prince, is the one shining star

“Cecily, my dear, a plan must be hatched

In which Punim, the prince, is forthwith dispatched” 

“Gwendolyn, my twin, do you have a plot?

'Cause, my tiny brain has not any got.”

“At midnight on Tuesday while Punim relaxes

In the crook of an arm that is working on taxes

We will creep o’er the ceiling in paws covered with ink

From his bed up the walls until reaching the sink

 

All in the house will think Punim’s gone mad.

When he’s tossed in the street, who could feel bad?”

“A genius you are, my Gwendolyn girl

I can’t wait til the night when the plan will unfurl…”

 

***

 

A midnight home, quiet and still.

A nefarious plot unfolding at will.

But, a furtive sentinel guards his house

Ready to pounce on the twins (or a mouse).

 

***

 

Screech, splat, slurgle, sproing; cats in a heap

Did someone yell “Catnip” while Gweny did creep?

Ink on the curtains and ink on the ground

Snickering was heard, but there was no sound…

 

Now, Gwendolyn and Cecily, felines so fair

Can be found every day combing Punim’s soft hair

The new cat in town is a most regal beast

He has two mewing minions that lead him to feast.

Dapper Date With 48

In honor of  Mathematician Nat's 48th Birthday

No longer Prime*,

Not yet Square**

And yet...

it is Abundantly clear

That Nathaniel

Is a Composite 

of 

Many wonderful Factors!

*47 so prime

**49 so square

In Which a Plethora of Sex Dolls is Used Metaphorically

Measure for Measure at the Young Vic

October 19, 2015

300 sex dolls litter the stage…

Bi-polar duke in a bit of a rage:

“Angelo you are now head of the state,”

Morality is no longer up for debate.

Licentiousness and lust: forcibly restrained,

Juliet with child and Claudio detained.

A writ has been issued; the crime? copulating,

Death to them who are lawlessly populating.

Isabella importunes: “my brother you can free,”

Lord Angelo replies: “I will...if you lie with me”

The hypocrisy, the horror, the abuse of power

What this play needs is a Duke who’s a Friar.

A Deus ex Machina can save the day!

A rejected lover enters the fray.

Trickery, diversion, sleight of hand…

Brings Act V to its “happy” end.

Visions of Springtime on the Planet Mars

Does Dog Exist?

Does This Dog Exist? 

Kevin's Dogs

By Rachel Artenian

Purple Me

SILKEN PLUNDER

SILKEN PLUNDER

Buddy and Bigsy squared off on the bed

Each eying the pillow for his own furry head.

World-renowned Buddy, dog of wonder

Longed to own that silken plunder.

The pillow is mine hissed Bigsy the cat

With eyes that spoke about things like that.

Face to face, tensions mounted

Whiskers twitched, minutes counted…

Then: yelping, snarling, sniping and, growling;

Neighbors were quite sure they heard yowling

Tempers flared

Teeth were bared…

“Where are my sweeties? “sang a voice from the hall

“Treats in the kitchen for one and for all!”

A rumble and tumble of dog and of cat

Out they came running—yes, just like that.

Jumping and playing as feisty pets do…

Tired heads on a pillow-- perfect for two.

RTA, 8/24/2015

MUTIK'S EPISTLE 2.0

The anticipated response from Mutik, the dog, is herewith published below. I met Mutik at a rockin' dance party. She was quite offended by the poem I had written for her (see previous post: "Brave Heart"). Her name means "sweet," not brave and she is a "gal" not a "feller." As I was leaving the party, Mutik nuzzled me with her wet nose. I realized later that she had slipped a note into my pocket:

Mutik's Epistle:

I would like to request that you don’t come back.

As a poet, you are quite a hack.

You indicate that I’m a boy

And treat me like I’m just a toy.

Mutik means sweet, not brave you see

You got it wrong, so let me be.

But then again on the other paw

During the party, stuff got raw:

With clamorous sounds some vigorous beasts

Were cackling and gorging on gluttonous feasts.

I ran through the door and saved my brood

(And also managed to scoop some food).

So, I guess I really am quite brave

Like those dogs of yore whose families they save.

Ok, my dear, you have one more chance

Come back next year; perhaps we’ll dance.

Mutik, the dog 8/9/15

Top Hat Cat

Brave Heart: A poem about a dog I never met

Mutik means brave in Yidish

Brave Heart

Mutik the dog, we have never met,

But of my friend you are the pet.

I hear you are brave, strong and true,

A well-bred beast through and through.

Dogs of legend are few and rare…

Let’s discover if you compare:

If:

Little Charlie fell into the well

Would you yelp and run and tell?

Do:

Barrels of brandy surround your neck

To save frostbit travelers on a dangerous trek?

Can you:

Pull the curtain, exposing the Wizard

As nothing more than a low-down lizard?

The Thin Man questions: if you has-ta,

Could you solve some crimes like Asta?

Would you:

Rescue your family as did Old Yeller?

Of course you would, you’re a gallant feller!

“Arf, yip, slobber, grrrr, slurp, bark,”

Mutik, the brave, has left his mark!

Birthday Cake, made from scratch

Lazy Sunflower Afternoon...Best Use of Sunday LA Times

Dancing Flamingos

Flamingo Part-ay!

22 Flamingos

"There are 22 flamingos atop my bed”

Anna exclaims, with a tilt of her head

“This situation is exceedingly strange; 

Not at all in my experiential range!"

"My pillow is soft, my head tucked under

I'm so comfy, I could sleep through thunder. 

One eye open, what do I see?

Two lady tourists are laughing at me."

"I raise my head and look all around,

Oh my goodness, I can't see the ground!

So sleepy again, my head curls down

What do I hear? a very strange sound…"

"Music envelops me; the color of pink

A Flamingo's lullaby is what I think.

Giggles, chuckles, and chortles awaken

With laughter I see those ladies are shakin'."

"I give them the stink-eye and turn to beak them

But I'm so sleepy, my left leg does weaken,

It folds up under my plumage so soft

And I dream about soaring aloft."

"‘Psst... darling Anna, wake up my girl

Your fuchsia wings you must unfurl..’

I spread out my wings, and I pirouette,

I get those chuckling ladies all wet!"

"Emily, Jessie, Marcy, Michele…?

My friends all FLAMINGOS? please do tell-

How is this possible, what is the deal?

‘It’s true’ they say, ‘Flamingo party is real!’”

Flamingos are jiving, jiggling and dancing.

Flamingos are waltzing, popping and prancing.

Flamboyant Flamingos kick up their heels,

Dazzling Flamingos perform complex reels.

Oh what a sight, they are dancing all night

The two lady tourists squeal with delight

And so it goes til the clock has struck 12

Then into the water flamingos do delve

22 flamingos so fine and so fair

Emerge with a splash in the soft evening air

Birthday chorus rings through the night

A fete to remember when best friends take flight!

Rose Applique

Birthday Roses

Lone Fang: or Why Some People’s Pets are not Ode-worthy

This tale of woe I must relate

To save an innocent from my fate

Concerning a cat that is totally ruthless,

Penny the cat, who is practically toothless

While relaxing one evening by the pool

Like an unknowing gullible fool,

Sipping wine, my death knell rang

As out of the night I spied a fang

Lunging at my tender throat!

I fought her off with my coat

Evil eyes, toothless grin

Lone tooth bared, she scraped my chin

Off she went into the night

Everyone snickering at my fright

A green-eyed lone-fanged imp from hell

Deserves no odes upon which to dwell

And that is why no poem is written

To celebrate Connie’s evil kitten.