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Wednesday

Sojourners


Here's this week's entry for Three Word Wednesday’s prompt on “empty,” “highway” and “ignored.”

Sojourners

We rode along beribboned curls,
Abandoned by titanic girls.
A broken stripe, it marked the pace,
As we tore up the empty space.

My maned companion, Zanzibar,
He carried me to lands afar.
His hoofbeats rattled in discord,
On silent pathways, thus ignored.

The highway, kept to us alone,
A sweet long-distance chaperone,
As there we journeyed, shore to shore,
To leave our home forevermore.



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Tuesday

My Misspeak


This is a LESSON on something that must LESSEN.

My Misspeak
(Limericks in Force for Speech Most Coarse)

It’s time for a self-made critique,
Right after a profane blue streak.
I hope no one heard
That decadent word,
When then without thought I did speak.


I should have just snapped shut my beak
And uttered not one single squeak.
I knew afterward,
My conscience was spurred,
For my censorship had sprung a leak.

Perhaps I will sound like a freak,
But language most foul seems to reek.
I’ve always preferred
To leave it unheard,
But now I my own tongue must tweak.
c2008 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:
public domain artwork

(Written upon request of Two for Tuesdays “streak” prompt and Get Your Poem On's "jargon" prompt, #24.)

Sunday

Flower Master - Haikus in Bloom



Flower Master –
Haikus in Bloom

Nurturing colors,
The Master fondly pruning,
Tends His budding shoots.

Soon, blossoms appear.
Vibrant beauty springs to life.
Step back, and admire.

Gentle hands caress,
Picking out the finest blooms
For a grand display.

The Artist shows off,
Admiring His handiwork,
As do all of us. 

That’s where life began,
In the Maker’s own garden,
And where life will end.
c2008 by Linda Ann Nickerson


(Written upon request of One Single Impressions’ “flowering” prompt.)

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Taking Notes




My journaling has me in stitches;
As paper consumes all my riches.
From forests to trees,
I’ve felled them with ease,
And still my old writer’s cramp itches.

Perhaps we have found a solution
To end the rainforest pollution.
I’ll tap on my keys,
Without guarantees.
And plead for worldwide distribution.
c2008 by Linda Ann Nickerson

(NOTE: This limerick pair is actually a flash-55 form, containing exactly 55 words.)

(Written upon request of Mr. Knowitall’s “Flash Friday 55” prompt.)


Image/s:
Public domain photo –
 vintage image

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Friday

Friendly Fire - A Haiku Revue


(Written upon request of Mad Kane’s prompt on “temper” and Read-Write-Poem’s “study in contrasts” prompt.)


Friendly Fire –
A Haiku Revue

Temper tossed away,
Clipping pins from live grenades,
Lobbing verbal bombs.

Hair-trigger anger,
Set off by a sudden noise,
Post-traumatic stress.

Who did this to you?
And who painted the target
On peacemaker’s back?

Call off the bombers.
The secret snipers are gone.
No reason to shoot.


Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Temper Defy - A Limerick Page for Trigger Rage

(Written upon request of Mad Kane’s prompt on “temper.”)



Temper Defy –
A Limerick Page for Trigger Rage

You think you have the right-of-way
To dictate all we do and say.
But our free will
Is living still,
So we resist your power play.

Your temper flew and disappeared.
What happened next was rather weird.
How we grew strong,
As we belong,
To see your childishness premiered.

“Now who’s the grownup?” we inquire,
Baffled by your silly ire.
Here on our feet,
We stand complete,
And watch your rapid rage backfire.


Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Sporty at Forty (Coming of Age with Limericks)

(Written upon request of Writer’s Island’s “Outrageous” prompt.)


Sporty at Forty
(Coming of Age with Limericks)

I so adore my best friend Marge.
Whose big four-oh was looming large.
She called our gang,
And with a bang,
She met the day by taking charge.

My friend runs circles round her peers;
Her forty annums bring her cheers.
At bar and grill,
She’s carded still
For aging slower than her years.

To face the years courageously,
Perhaps a bit outrageously,
With forty winks
And great hijinks
She’s aged most advantageously.

Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Monday

On Guard – Limericks Homegrown for Hearts of Stone


(Written upon request of Mad Kane’s “health prompt, One Single Impressions’ “color” prompt, Sunday Scribblings’ “compose” prompt,” and the Poetry Train.)

On Guard - Limericks Homegrown for Hearts of Stone

Forgetting is an order tall
When memories, unexpected, call.
Grudge distressing,
Old hurt pressing,
Sends us whirling in free-fall.

A tragedy from days gone by
May cause a fragile soul to fry.
Secret keeper,
Ever deeper,
Bitter roots won’t satisfy.

Colors blend and edges fade,
As healthy foci are decayed.
Till we forgive,
We barely live,
Afraid to trip an old grenade.

And so we forfeit our repose,
As inwardly we decompose,
Preferring wrath,
The aftermath,
An undertone that overflows.

If we can learn to just let go,
Escaping from the undertow,
The tide will shift,
With mercy swift,
As we let go of quid pro quo.

NOTE: Although the limerick, as a poetic form, is generally employed in humorous verse, the structure has been intentionally used here for added emphasis.

Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Wednesday

The Scout – A Saluting Scene for a U.S. Marine



This poem is for a 23-year-old U.S. Marine Corporal, who was killed in a roadside bombing in Iraq earlier on April 14, 2008.

Please join us in praying for Ricky’s family, particularly during this difficult time of mourning. Please pray for his young widow, especially as the first anniversary of their wedding arrives next Monday, April 21st.

Just two days before he died, Ricky telephoned his family and assured them that his life was in God’s hands. May the Father hold him dearly, while his loved ones cannot.



The Scout – A Saluting Scene for a U.S. Marine
(for Ricky)

A lovely lad, with soul sublime,
Accomplished much in such short time.
This golden boy, without a crime,
He lived and died before his prime.

This stellar student, in his class,
Applied himself without trespass.
In sport and music, he’d amass
Awards and honors at each pass.

He graduated, then enrolled,
A soldier: handsome, tall and bold.
In war-torn countries, he patrolled
And proudly served, with heart of gold.

A second tour of duty called.
The orders came; he was installed.
In cities where the people brawled,
As governments were overhauled.

At home, his bride awaited word;
With every letter, hope deferred,
Until the officers unheard
Arrived to tell her afterward.

He fought the fight, as he had sworn.
Now we salute him, though we mourn.
His broken body’s been reborn,
Away from terror, strife and scorn.

We think he’d best be here instead,
This soldier, who left much unsaid.
He scouts terrain, a new homestead,
Of his own time, so far ahead.






Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Sunday

On the Road – Racing Ahead and Looking Back


(Written upon request of One Single Impression’s “glory” prompt, Sunday Scribblings’ “fearless” prompt, Weekend Wordsmith’s “take me back” prompt, Writer’s Island’s “flight" prompt, and a general prompt from Read-Write-Poem.)


On the Road –
Racing Ahead and Looking Back

I’m living, longing. Take me back.
My heart, it must rewind, backtrack.
In vaguest reveries, I find
Your tender care most underlined.

The greatest day I’ve ever known
Was when I claimed You as my own.
I vowed to serve You, then forgot.
Though You’ve been faithful, I have not.

The blacktop ribbon, hard and fast,
Draws me to danger, at full blast.
Its dotted markings lull my soul,
As I slip into cruise control.

What happened to the glory days?
They’ve disappeared in smoky haze.
Once fearless, clutching to Your hand,
I’d follow You to no-man’s land.

Since then, my heart has taken flight,
Caressing clouds in oversight.
The road below, the sky above,
They lured me from my own first love.

Although my hands have gripped the wheel,
I find it harder to conceal:
The obstacles within my lane
Are sent to make my pathway plain.

I’m living, longing. Take me back.
My heart, it must rewind, backtrack.
Remove the shade that blocks my view;
I only live to follow You.


Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Tuesday

Fair Warning – A Poetic Tense on Style Sense




Fair Warning –
A Poetic Tense on Style Sense

A young police force lives with me;
And misdemeanor finds.
They point out fashion ills with glee,
This posse of designs.

My wardrobe is behind the time;
My children tell me so.
The clothes I wear commit a crime,
Most everywhere I go.

“No Trespassing,” this sign they hold,
When I am getting dressed.
These deputies, though they be bold,
My closet, they arrest.

If children cannot tell the truth,
Then who else can I trust?
For they are innocent in youth,
Though my attire, they bust.

It’s time to clear the closet out;
We’re heading for the shops.
One thing is sure, without a doubt,
My kids are fashion cops.
c2008 by Linda Ann Nickerson

(Written upon request of Two for Tuesdays “truth” and “sign” prompt.)



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Monday

Caught to the Quick – A Rhymed Retelling of a Photo Most Compelling


(Written upon request of One Single Impression’s “stranded” prompt, Read-Write-Poem’s “aunt” prompt and Sunday Scribblings’ “photo” prompt)


Caught to the Quick –
A Rhymed Retelling of a Photo Most Compelling

Digging through a dusty pile
In the attic, made me smile.
There, a photo of Aunt Mae
Took my every breath away.

In the image was my kin,
Stuck in quicksand, to her chin.
Sinking slowly, ever deeper,
Aunt Mae met the old Grim Reaper.

To my shock, I knew the truth.
Folks had lied throughout my youth.
Poor Aunt Mae, the little dear,
Died not from a flu severe.

Mae had fallen for a man,
With a frontier purchase plan.
Leaving all at his behest,
She had followed him out West.

They had quarreled by the fire;
He departed, rotten liar.
Mae hitched up the wagon team,
Then she heard an eerie scream.

The horses fled; the wagon tipped.
Mae lost her footing, and she slipped.
In the mire, my Auntie kicked,
But not before a camera clicked.

Now, in the attic, I was shocked
To learn how Aunt Mae’s world was rocked.
Her secret romance, journey planned,
Was stranded there in deep quicksand.



Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Out of Gases and Sunglasses

(Written upon request of Poetry Train’s “Manic Monday #51)


Out of Gases and Sunglasses


I buy the cheap sunglasses,
Whatever I can find.
My cash is spent on gases,
The automotive kind.

I can’t afford the fancy shades,
The pricey, hip new styles;
My car needs petrol, lowest grades,
To drive a few more miles.

I steer my motor ‘round the bends
And squint, so I can see.
But my generic tinted lens,
Won’t block the UV-B.

Still, I can’t justify the cost
Of sunglasses with class.
I have to pay for my exhaust.
My vehicle needs gas.

Who needs to drop a hundred bucks
To polarize their sight?
We use C-notes to fill our trucks,
And drive them just at night.



Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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