Micropoetry Monday: Halloween

Abra Cadaver book cover

Halloween: A Love-ish Story

When Trick tripped over a rusty lamp,
a rather apathetic genie fell out,
& Trick was granted 3 wishes:
money,
only to be foolishly parted from it;
power,
only for it to be hacked;
& fame,
only for it to become infamy.
Treat had 3 fairy godmothers
who granted her beauty,
brains,
& brawn,
but never all at once;
when she got the first,
she told her godmothers
that they could just sod the rest.
When Trick & Treat met
at a death-by-chainsaw costume party,
they realized
that they could only stand each other
for one night—
an annual one-night stand
that always ended in a bellyache.

The Jack-o’-Lantern’s Rant

There once was a pumpkin who didn’t have a voice,
when along came a kid with a knife,
who gave him a mouth,
but scooped out his brains,
roasted his seeds,
& left his flesh to rot,
making this squash go out of his gourd.

When the 31-year-old Catholic schoolgirl
became the pregnant nun that next year,
having married the fireman
who became a policeman,
she brought into the world,
Hungry, Hungry, Hayley,
the Happy-go-unlucky Hobo,
who’d fallen out of her cardboard box dollhouse
& off her little red wagon
from chugging too much root beer & ginger ale,
& Poppy Cock, the Paid Protestor,
who became the scream queen
in their redneck of the woods,
with her sandwich sign that said,
“Taking baby steps for Whirled Peas.”
But when they crossed paths
with the plethora of princesses of Pensacola,
who gave them the stinkeye,
Hayley & Poppy’s fingers,
sticky from God knows what,
pickpocketed their Kit Kats,
Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups,
& Hershey’s kisses,
leaving those little dolled-up darlings
with candy corn,
circus peanuts,
& peanut butter kisses.

Revive the art of conversation

Sarah Lea Stories

I’d never heard of “found poetry” until I took a college-level poetry class.

I began finding (if not looking for) poetry in unlikely places. Being a dark chocolate lover, I noticed the cute little sayings inside the Dove candy wrapper foils and thought, I could do something with these, so I began posting these short poems on Instagram.

It was perfect. I already had the graphic—I just had to provide the text.

Revive the art of conversation

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Micropoetry Monday: Yummies & Yuckies

When Walnut Fudge
cross-contaminated with Pecan Divinity,
each believed they were
the signature Christmas candy,
but when they crossed paths
with the often overdone upper crust—
with their “nanas” instead of “grannies”
& their preference for truffles,
with all their fancy-schmancy finishes,
nestled in scalloped paper shells—
Fudge & Divinity realized
that despite their differences,
they’d take being nutty anyday
over being infused with booze.

He was savory cheesecake,
she, sweet.
When they tried to make
beautiful dinner music together,
she had no use for his spooning
when she needed to be forked
a tine or two
(being quite forkable),
any more than he had for her
egging him on while
being totally baked.

When Oatmeal Raisin Cookie
met Chocolate Chip Cookie,
it was sweet love at first sight,
so they decided to open a cookie emporium,
after dozens of cakeholes & pieholes
had claimed it was easy as a piece of cake.
So, these not-so-smart cookies conceived & baked
the Oatmeal Raisin Chocolate Chip Cookie,
who turned out to be a clusterfudge,
for those who loved chocolate hated raisins
& those who loved raisins were allergic to chocolate.
Thus, the biz burned up belly-up,
with Brownie,
who knew what worked,
being a Thin Mint entrepreneur,
telling them that was just the way the cookie crumbled.

Micropoetry Monday: Life in these United States

outer-page

An Englishman
a Frenchman,
& an American
walked into an eatery.
The Englishman left an impolite word,
the Frenchman, a bad review,
& the American,
a tip.

She lived a life of mystery,
he, of transparency.
When they met over coffee & bagels,
she found herself longing for a simple life,
he, a scintillating one.
When they fell in love—
she, with his all-around nice guy persona
& he, with her essence of intrigue—
they compromised for a life in the burbs,
surrounded by all the displaced yuppies
with their big little lies.

Ninah Fiver had been counseled not to burn bridges,
but she dared to glare back at the witches,
with their real plastic & fake smiles,
who had tried to suck her back in with their fakery & toxicity
& cast upon her their spells of rotting, garden-variety bitchcraft.
Knowing that these hoes who were loved (but not beloved) by rakes
would soon be sweeping over,
she sprayed her territory with AquaNet & lit a match,
so that these ladies with the invisible pointed hats
went out in a blaze of glory,
even as Ninah blazed the trail for other office workers
who suffered from first-world PTSD
& an unhealthy obsession with Post-It notes.