Musings by The Poet Loriet
Year In Poetic Review~A Duet
A poetess looks at January,
as "Cold As Ice" reverberates
thru chilly air...she is a Foreigner
to kept New Years resolutions,
her resolve melted by McDonald's
fry vats, and addictions to love,
child! The fireplace sparks and roars
steam engine red as she plows on
to face a New Year, in hand
a Honey Brown beer~cheers!
Febuary through poetic eyes as gloomy
as a coal mine.
Snow stricken cabin fever,
break out the vodka
and hot chocolate.
Every day like sunday,
but no football.
Wee Willy Wonka,
give me a boost.
The end of winter,
a time for writers block.
March winds leave the poet's
notebook as cold and blank
as an unmarked kite,
hit and run through
electric currents
of motivation.
The wild North wind
bites through my clothes
and blows my papers
helter-skelter...
I long for the sun
to come out of
Winter Solstyce.
The peak of spring
show through April
showers.
An inspiration for the
poetic mind.
We leave our card
as we run away
with our poetic
spring fever.
You can keep your
raincheck on a rainy day,
with pen in hand
we shock the world.
Mother, May I
adorn your feet with flowers
and write silly love poems
while reclining on a grassy sea
studying the cumulus clouds,
pregnant with new life.
Fresh as a baby's bottom,
I powder well-worn pages
with sleek new poems!
Bellisima~Spring blooms
forth soft as a
baby's breath!
Kids 24-7,
heat,
late night taco bell.
Could it be june?
Loud mouth kids
and busy days,
a time to escape to
poetic endulgence.
Sitcom reruns,
what a bore,
time for poetry bliss.
July explodes like a mouth
full of watermelon,
juicy and hot, explosive!
Firecracker firecracker
boom boom, gotta go to
the little poets room
to escape the hullabaloo
and write about fried chicken
and rum punch catamaran
adventures from days
gone by!
August a month to
remember.
Put on your thinkin' caps,
schools now in session.
I don't remember what you did
last summer
and don't really care.
Summer's end is near,
Enjoy it while it last.
Get your pen and paper
people, because summer inspiration
can't last for ever.
Chitty chitty bang bang,
hot dog anybody?
September and it's hard to
remember where the boys
of summer strolled with
bikini-clad girls upon sandy
beaches...back to the grind
stone cold stiletto heels
and pragmatic buns...
peer over rhinestone glasses...
Class is in session...
your first lesson...
Shakespearian sonnets~
groan. Daydreams prevail
over pbjs in brown paper bags
and Barbie backpacks...
Vampires and gouls,
October has arrived.
A month filled with comical poems.
It's time to write a limmereck
to wear off the sugar rush.
Trick or treat,
but I ain't smellin' your feet,
I'll just make fun of you
in a clerihew.
Time to talk turkey
once upon November.
Jibberish stuffing
and the cranberries are
all writing about
the death of vegetarianism.
Giblets of Goth poets
bleed their sad,
their bittersweet
meuslix onto mics
as they thespianate
beat poetry
over coffee.
Snap. Snap.
The year nears its end,
as december approaches.
Ho ho ho
and a bottle of rum.
I feel a poem come on
as santa loses his pants
in the mall.
Its time to sit on santa's lap,
"is that a reindeer treat or
you just happy to see me."
Jingle bells and shotgun shells,
December, a poets dream.
A year in poetic review.Written by pac and The Poet Loriet.
.
as "Cold As Ice" reverberates
thru chilly air...she is a Foreigner
to kept New Years resolutions,
her resolve melted by McDonald's
fry vats, and addictions to love,
child! The fireplace sparks and roars
steam engine red as she plows on
to face a New Year, in hand
a Honey Brown beer~cheers!
Febuary through poetic eyes as gloomy
as a coal mine.
Snow stricken cabin fever,
break out the vodka
and hot chocolate.
Every day like sunday,
but no football.
Wee Willy Wonka,
give me a boost.
The end of winter,
a time for writers block.
March winds leave the poet's
notebook as cold and blank
as an unmarked kite,
hit and run through
electric currents
of motivation.
The wild North wind
bites through my clothes
and blows my papers
helter-skelter...
I long for the sun
to come out of
Winter Solstyce.
The peak of spring
show through April
showers.
An inspiration for the
poetic mind.
We leave our card
as we run away
with our poetic
spring fever.
You can keep your
raincheck on a rainy day,
with pen in hand
we shock the world.
Mother, May I
adorn your feet with flowers
and write silly love poems
while reclining on a grassy sea
studying the cumulus clouds,
pregnant with new life.
Fresh as a baby's bottom,
I powder well-worn pages
with sleek new poems!
Bellisima~Spring blooms
forth soft as a
baby's breath!
Kids 24-7,
heat,
late night taco bell.
Could it be june?
Loud mouth kids
and busy days,
a time to escape to
poetic endulgence.
Sitcom reruns,
what a bore,
time for poetry bliss.
July explodes like a mouth
full of watermelon,
juicy and hot, explosive!
Firecracker firecracker
boom boom, gotta go to
the little poets room
to escape the hullabaloo
and write about fried chicken
and rum punch catamaran
adventures from days
gone by!
August a month to
remember.
Put on your thinkin' caps,
schools now in session.
I don't remember what you did
last summer
and don't really care.
Summer's end is near,
Enjoy it while it last.
Get your pen and paper
people, because summer inspiration
can't last for ever.
Chitty chitty bang bang,
hot dog anybody?
September and it's hard to
remember where the boys
of summer strolled with
bikini-clad girls upon sandy
beaches...back to the grind
stone cold stiletto heels
and pragmatic buns...
peer over rhinestone glasses...
Class is in session...
your first lesson...
Shakespearian sonnets~
groan. Daydreams prevail
over pbjs in brown paper bags
and Barbie backpacks...
Vampires and gouls,
October has arrived.
A month filled with comical poems.
It's time to write a limmereck
to wear off the sugar rush.
Trick or treat,
but I ain't smellin' your feet,
I'll just make fun of you
in a clerihew.
Time to talk turkey
once upon November.
Jibberish stuffing
and the cranberries are
all writing about
the death of vegetarianism.
Giblets of Goth poets
bleed their sad,
their bittersweet
meuslix onto mics
as they thespianate
beat poetry
over coffee.
Snap. Snap.
The year nears its end,
as december approaches.
Ho ho ho
and a bottle of rum.
I feel a poem come on
as santa loses his pants
in the mall.
Its time to sit on santa's lap,
"is that a reindeer treat or
you just happy to see me."
Jingle bells and shotgun shells,
December, a poets dream.
A year in poetic review.Written by pac and The Poet Loriet.
.
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Year In Poetic Review~A Duet
Year In Poetic Review~A Duet