Flyer Drill: A Limericked Shove on Rising Above

Flyer Drill

A Limericked Shove on Rising Above

A woman who loved a good thrill

Plunged into the fire until

A true breach of trust

Left “Done” in the dust.

A louder bird shrieked ever shrill.

His crowings ignited a blaze,

Desiring her feathers to faze.

Like phoenix of old,

She’d rise again, bold,

Perhaps even self to amaze.

Her smoldering wings fluttered frail,

And still on the skies she would sail.

Each tumbling bruise

Her longings would loose.

To travel above her travail.
c2011 by Linda Ann Nickerson

(Written in response to a prompt from Mad Kane.)

Please pop on over and visit my author page on Amazon.

Image/s:

Phoenix, by Barthelemy

15^th Century Artwork

From: Biblioteque Municipale d’Amiens, France

Public Domain Artwork

Share

Drumming Up Trouble

Drumming Up Trouble

My brain, it explodes with percussion.

No medicine works. I have tried.

It feels like I have a concussion.

I’m mopping up tears I have cried.

The throbbing is downright confounding.

My windows, they rattle beside.

But wait! I’ve discovered what’s pounding.

A drum corps rehearses outside.

Who welcomed these marchers to gather,

To practice formations untried?

I’m working myself to a lather.

Perhaps I’ll just go for a ride.
c2011 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image/s:

Drummer Boy - public domain clip-art

Drum Corps photo copyrighted by Linda Ann Nickerson

Nickers and Ink

Positively Punchy

Positively Punchy

I’m not gonna bathe in your potions.

Don’t offer your poison fruit punch.

Not sure where you picked up such notions,

Although I have one certain hunch.

Your pontifications amuse not.

You argue on topics agreed.

What happens when you’re out of earshot

And others may freely proceed?

How bitter the brew you have boiled.

The cauldron, it hisses and steams.

And yet the concoction is spoiled,

For something is not as it seems.

A guest may admire aroma,

Perhaps even sampling a sip.

However, for those not in coma,

Your output bars all return trip.

So save me the trouble of asking,

And offer your quaff elsewhere, please.

For some scents are worthy of basking,

While others spread bitter disease.
c2011 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image/s:

Blowing His (Own) Horn

Painting by Gabriël Metsu

Public Domain – copyright expired

Love poetry? Find my published poetry (and other) books through my Amazon author page. Got a Kindle? Check out my growing list of eBooks on Amazon.

Share