This week’s Little Vines.
4883.
exuberance
claws
not a great combination in a family pet.
4884.
I laughed
crankily, cautiously, sour to the ear –
an untuned piano not played in years
4885.
Though I am now another self
how easily you will know me
even with your eyes closed
4886.
the herd of colorful umbrellas moved restlessly
a handful opened
just as the rain did not begin to fall
4887.
A craving for chocolate
does not go dormant just like that
I’ll give you the first piece of lemon cake
is not enough. Chocolate or nothing.
4888.
this is your nose
positioned at just the right angle
for you to look down it. How serendipitous.
4889.
very specific wishing
very little rejoicing very much
disappointment
4890.
the fresh green didn’t return
it became the gray the mottled the dry
it all happened very quickly
4891.
the abrasive alarm clock
ignited the synapses of the sleeper
left him quarrelsome all day
4892.
Sign on the old beater: Hello and Approved and
make your neighbors jealous
when you drive up in this intoxicating beauty of
a great ride from Ultra-Very Multi-Pre-Owned Cars!
4893.
scrape it with your fingernails
the pale green underflesh
smells like calamity
4894.
splayed branches
I trace them on your palm
I feel compelled root and stem
to understand you
4895.
It’s not fine It never should’ve happened
she said, doing those eye somersaults she does
I knew she was angry, but this? I’m dead.
4896.
the naïve clouds
gape at the sly tricks the sun plays
never noticing what the wind is doing to them
4897.
In our corrosive little society
the bloat rains down on
roving herds that graze in blighted grass
so begins the novel. Nope. I throw the dystopia in the trash.
4898.
the fizzle of
the getaway car being parked in next to the fence
sort of cuts the high from robbing the bank
4899.
I babble in shorthand
My fractured sentences ramble and fail
My reflection mutters at me in the mirror.
Exam at nine. I should have studied more.
4900.
bicycles and dishrags and
insects and pearls and spoons and
one restless housefly looking for adventure
boarded the moving van
4901.
I hope you’re right the doll jeered
a cold-hearted choir singing in the background.
The rain pelted down. Gravestones tilted.
Shivers. More popcorn, please.
4902.
Yes! Stay a few nightmarish nights
here in our creepy town. Sleeplessness guaranteed.
Those saucy poltergeists at the inn sure know what sells.
Claudia McGill Writes Poetry, Did You Know That? 
4883 4888 4900. My favorites!!!
Thank you. I am partial to the housefly and the moving van one myself.!!!
The phrase “saucy poltergeists” made me chuckle. I like that poem a lot. There are lots of poems about striving for communication or connection and many of those attempts being thwarted. A hope for green instead becomes grey; a palm is interpreted in the hope of understanding; the piano is untuned; the umbrellas anticipate rain that does not arrive; but the transformed self is still recognizable to a significant other.
I am loving how you find a thread in the group, and you express it so eloquently. I know that each day that I write these I am in a particular mood or feeling, but I cannot see how the different little poems connect to each other, I guess I am too close. You are right about this week inside my head, the theme is connections not made and ties that are not formed, or were not.
I especially love the first one, but a stellar group. (K)
Thank you. I feel like this group sort of came out of left field, I feel my brain and I are somewhat distant from each other right now, but maybe things are snapping back into shape.
Sometimes you need left field. A great expression.