What If a Duck?

What if a duck was made King of the world,

and he passed ducky laws for the people?

Would we walk with a waddle 

to mimic webbed feet?

would we all dine on minnows 

and preen before sleep?

Would we honk to sound clever,

or flap to seem bold?

Would we migrate to Texas

when weather turned cold?

Would troubles, like water, 

roll right off one's back,

and if we got sick, 

would we visit a quack?

There’d be no feather pillows, 

pâté would be banned,

most foxes imprisoned, 

all Daffy films panned.

What if a duck was the king of the land

and someone yelled “Duck!”—

Would we stand?

This week's poem is a tad political...what can I say? And this week's Poetry Friday Round-Up is hosted by Molly at Nix the Comfort Zone. She writes with poignancy in brevity.

By the way poets and writers, thank you for the thoughtful comments on my last poem. I hope to get back to each of you this week. I am so wowed by the creative heart-weaving that I find whenever I dip into Poetry Friday. Cheers, Doida

The Ice Storm

An ice storm came to my town—

with booms and explosions

it brought tree limbs down.

Fierce thunderous cracks woke us up in the night,

would trees pierce the walls

of our bedrooms?

—They might!

We scrambled in bed with the grownups so tight

while ice murdered maples throughout the long night.

Mom lit a candle,

Jim found a flashlight,

I trembled

in awe

and in fear

       ...and delight!

In the morning the whole world stood still.

I crept to the window

and gripped the wood sill.

Our yard was a jumble of trees—it was mad.

Had our car been destroyed

by a tree trunk?

—It had!

Icicles glittering bright, and pine boughs,

power lines twisted, the havoc was bad.

Our neighbors’ roof—busted

by ice, cold and white.

I stared out

in awe

and in fear

       ...and delight!

Greetings and happy winter. It seems posting one poem a week has been a misnomer. I see my last post was two months ago! If you’re seeing this, be sure check out the many poets and poetry bloggers at the Poetry Friday Roundup. This week the host is Amy at The Poem Farm. 

Have a most lovely week, Doida

Paper Bag Days

Mondays are paper bag days,

walk to school peanut butter lunch days,
unless it rains and I go by car days.

Middle of the week are lunchbox days, 
fresh avocado tuna fish and yogurt days,
there and back on a noisy yellow bus days.

Fridays are bellyache days,
parent tug-of-war days,

wait to see where I end up days.

If you like these poems, scroll down and read some more—then try my new Follow/Subscribe button in the sidebar and let me know if it even works. :-)

Also, check out the many poets and poetry bloggers at the Poetry Friday Roundup. This week the host is Carol Labuzzetta at The Apples In My Orchard.

Have a most lovely week, Doida

Call Me They

 

I've been thinking

about gender a lot,

who I am

and who I'm not. 

Some Friends weren't

sure what to say,

till I asked them

to call me they.

Now I'm free

to breathe and be

true to myself—

Y'all,

this

is

me.

Greetings readers. It's Friday! Check out other poets at this week's Poetry Friday Roundup hosted by Laura Purdie Salas. She has a new book coming out soon—Flurry, Float, and Fly! 

The Gandergoo

In the basement of our building

where no one dares to go,

lurks the Gandergoo.

He dines on children who show fear,

so never flinch in case you happen to be near 

the hungry Gandergoo.

Old Willy once went down to find a tool

and now he only has one leg, the fool—

he met the Gandergoo.

It must have been a painful climb back up,

the ragged stump remaining where his leg was eaten up

by that old Gandergoo.

Some brats your age went missing—on a dare

they’d gone to search the basement for the lair

of gruesome Gandergoo,

And no one’s ever seen them since,

except for one old shoe found in the vents

left by the Gandergoo.

You little kids should hide away in here like hares 

while all us brave kids play outside—hey we’re not scared

like all you, of the Gandergoo.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! It’s Poetry Friday and this week the host is Jone Rush MacCulloch. Follow her link to spooky poetry…at your peril. MwaHaHa

Nobody Knows But Me

 

On top of the roof 

I lashed my bed

with tape and wire

to the chimney-stead,

so I can climb out

when the sun dips west

to sleep among stars

in a Milky Way nest. 

 

Now I roost with ravens 

and soar with owls

in dreams of the hunt

of the shrew and mouse

under  meteor showers 

where comet trails burn,

then crow with the roosters

when morning returns—

 

And nobody knows but me.

Poetry Friday is hosted by Patricia Franz at Reverie this week. Read about this year’s  National Writing Project—WRITE OUT.  The theme this year is Awaken the Senses.

Don’t Call On Me

Teacher please

don’t call on me

to give an answer

to a question

about a topic

I’m not actually 

paying attention to.

My hand is down.

My gaze, nonspecific.

My expression

carefully composed 

to appear 

thoughtful,

angelic, 

and invisible.

Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by 

Sarah Grace Tuttle this week.