Farkleschnide

Farkle, you enchanting application on Facebook.
Held captive, am I, within your world of chance and intrigue.
Besting more scores, permeates my every awakened thought. Damn you.

Deceptively welcoming,
You lure your prey to your evil web of green velvet and red die-die-die-die-die-die,
Within which souls lie spellbound by your quizzical game.


To the highest rafters soars jubilation upon realizing your protagonist has rolled six ones!
Equally matched in its extremity by the depths to which the heart sinks,
When nary a five, one, straight, triplet or druther appears.

You twixy vixen of mayhem and mirth,
Your prisoners in gaming fall helpless to your pull,
And gaze unto your screen, trying desperately to determine,
If your algorithms are pure, true and random.

Doubt it.

Would You Be?

This poem was written by Karen - a second-grader from New Jersey. I enjoy its innocence. I love your poem, Karen ... thank you for sending it in! Please keep 'em coming!!

Would You Be?

Would you be a pussycat with a great big smile?
Would you be a crocodile swimming down the Nile?

Would you be a giraffe, as tall as a tree?
Or, would you be somebody just like me?

My Sweet Maggie

Early morning light,
Streams through the bedroom's french doors,
She begins to stir.

Awakened, she blinks;
Stretching, she gives a big yawn,
And, opens her eyes.

Still a bit groggy,
She thinks about her new day,
"What fun we will have!"

"Oh, wake up, Mommy!"
She checks for signs of movement.
"Let's go play outside!"

A leg moves, then arms.
Reaching, she says, "There's my girl!"
Pat, pat on the head.

Kissies and tail wags,
Greetings of love meet the day.
"Mommy's getting up!"

"Where is your football?"
Mommy wants to know. "Get it!"
The football is retrieved.

Open up the doors,
The new day comes streaming in.
White streak runs, top speed!

Mommy's arm goes back,
Slings the toy through autumn air,
To her eager friend.

"Gotta catch that ball!"
Mockingbird perched high above,
Watching from the pole.

Good trajectory!
Fair catch mere moments away!
Mid-air grab ... bravo!

Quick trots back to Mom,
"How I love this football game!
Throw it again, please!"

An hour goes by,
Tail wagging, tongue hanging fun!
Exhausted, they stop.

Time for some water,
And maybe a little food.
Football wears you out!

Mommy picks her up,
Kiss on the head, "I love my girl."
Great start to the day.

"What should I do now?"
The answer is obvious.
"Think I'll take a nap."

Haiku for Norv Turner

Norv, you idiot -
You call yourself a "head coach?"
I call you a "tool."

Wretched Beast

Image by i_gallagher via Flickr

Tormentor and scoundrel,
You silently laugh as I stare at you in bewilderment,

All of that work - all for naught.
All I want, all I need, from you is a little cooperation.

Dedication, deprivation, will power, hallucination.
Yet, the results are the same.

You don’t move, you don’t budge.
You just blink back at me … laughing to yourself.

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

I think you’re a bastard.

Bad Weather

“Use your words,” I implore you, but only in my mind,

as I wipe from the counter three spilled drops of morning coffee

that missed the pour from pot to cup.

I note that the gray cloud,which has seemingly enveloped you over the past few weeks,

Persists.

Here we are again. Still.

As I remove a bowl from the cabinet, I feel your eyes fixated on the back of my head, following me as I whirl about the kitchen engaged in my morning routine.

What have I done wrong? What have I done right? Your silence fuels the mystery.

The pantry holds an enormous bounty of goodies, from which I select my usual breakfast.

A sunshiney character on the box of cereal conveys a message I don’t believe will soon manifest. “It’s going to be a happy, shiny day!”

Where did we go? Who are you? Who am I - without you?

Your emotion isn’t anger, yet neither is it love - anymore.

A change has seemingly crept in driven by an intangible force over which I have no control.

I guess ... ?

Will you ever be back? Will we ever be whole – again?

My words have been spoken via questions, statements, conjecture and rhetoric.
My words have been written via letters, notes, cards and memos.
Yes, expression occurred, but communication did not.
Speaking was plentiful, but conversation lacked.

Words are powerful.
Words are transformative.
Words can cut, yet words can heal.

Use your words.