Tax against the wall

All present and accounted for? Maybe.

Tax Against the Wall

How can fiscals fly so fast?

Documenting, I’m aghast.

Confident? Put down that pen.

Push to shove? It’s “when” again.

Help! By papers I’m harassed.

Tax prep time! I have to focus;

Need a little hocus-pocus.

Easy money? That’s a joke.

Busted! Now I think I’m broke.

My accountant’s gonna choke.

Pounding buttons, hand to plow.

Look at me, subtracting now.

Number-crunching confidante?

Maybe I am part-savant.

Finished, but I don’t know how.

c2017 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Adapted by this user from public domain artwork.

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

Meme Express: “easy money”

Simply Snickers: “confidante” and “confident”

Six Word Saturday: See subtitle.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday: “how”

#SoCS

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Upward Found

More often than not, the most important journeys require a few trips along the way.

Upward Found

At times I wonder what I’ve missed,

For tangles I can’t yet untwist.

I’d like to leave the fight behind,

Rest on cloud nine and clear my mind.

Tranquility still tops my list.

A kid at heart, I’ll keep my kicks.

In open space, I hit the bricks.

A sojourn sweet beneath the sky

May raise my face and lift my eye.

God knows there is no easy fix.

Alas, the path is long and hard.

The way is rocky, steep, and charred.

To trudge the road beneath a load

Does bend the shoulders; pains explode.

And yet the journey’s worth each yard.

c2017 by Linda Ann Nickerson

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

Five-Minute Friday: “slow”

Mad Kane Humor Blog: “list” or “enlist” (LIMERICK)

Meme Express: “on cloud nine”

Simply Snickers: “keep,” “kicks” and “kid”

Thursday Challenge: “open space” (I)

Writer’s Workshop: “fight”

Image/s:

Public domain photo - Pixabay

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Art Class Impasse

When it comes to art, mine’s not exactly just abstractly. Quite matter of factly, it might catch some flak-ly.

Art Class Impasse

(Going – going – gone!)

Invited to pull up a seat,

A studio session to meet,

The truth I’ll confide:

I cringed and I sighed

And hastened to beat my retreat.

The teacher arranged a sweet vase

With flowers assembled in place.

My cohorts drew fine,

While I sipped the wine

And stared at my easel’s blank space.

My languid attempt drew a glare.

The master arose from his chair.

He paced and he huffed.

He stomped and he scuffed,

My still life drove him to despair.

I dabbled and dabbed with the paint.

(Remember, a Rembrandt I ain’t.)

The blooms impish seemed.

The vase unredeemed.

My canvas begged high-pitched complaint.

The merciful end came at last.

I glanced at my painting, aghast.

The colors betrayed

Unspoken tirade.

I had to get out of there fast!

To draw, paint, or sculpt is a gift.

The artistic muse left me stiffed.

Don’t mean to kvetch,

But attempting a sketch?
The mere thought can set me adrift.

Perhaps we may each have a flair,

With talent and passion to spare.

But I’ll be the one

Who’s coming undone,

With art to complete and compare.

c2017 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Bayfront Painting Class, 1945, vintage/public domain. (Thanks, Sepia Saturday.)

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

ABC Wednesday: “G” words

One-Liner Wednesday: See subtitle (above).

Three-Word Wednesday: “high-pitched,” “impish,” and “languid”

#BeWoW

#1linerWeds

Feel free to follow on Google Plus and Twitter. Please visit my Amazon author page as well.