Steamed or Redeemed – A Boiling Roil on Daily Toil

 

Steamed or Redeemed – 

A Boiling Roil on Daily Toil

 

I’m thankful for at least ten things.

Remind me when my mis’ry stings.

My coffee pot

Can fix a lot,

As “Easy does it,” so it sings.

 

My nose tips slightly out of joint,

As winged worries angst anoint,

Till wonders weird

My sights have cleared.

To draw me back from boiling point.

 

Another Monday might be mild,

To cheer and calm this child riled.

In this, I thank

And bow to rank

Far ‘neath the One who on me smiled.

 

‘Tis far past time; I must look up.

Perhaps I need another cup.

c2022 by Linda Ann Nickerson

 

 

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

• Five-Minute Friday: “coffee”
• Limerick-Off Monday (Mad Kane): “nose” or “knows” or “noes”
• Meme Express: “easy does it”
• Simply Snickers: “weird,” “wild,” and “winged”
• Stream of Consciousness Saturday: “tip”
• Ten Things of Thankful: gratitude-generators

 

Image: Pixabay - public domain photo

Feel free to follow on Twitter, and follow Nickers and Ink Creative Communications on Facebook. Please visit my Amazon author page as well. And I am happy to share my RUNDERDOG ambassador code for 10% off on Bondi Band Athletic Headbands, Accessories, and Fashions. (Simply enter the code at online checkout.).

You Schmooze, You Lose - Pandemic Blues

 

The world’s gone bonkers; there’s no doubt.

We’re closeted by those with clout.

We simply can’t come out to play.

The virus has to go away

Because we cannot schmooze.

 

My muscles sag. My nerves, they knot.

My language, it has gone to pot.

I don’t hold back a darn or heck.

The house is clean, but I’m a wreck

Because we cannot schmooze.

 

It’s growing harder to assess

My errant need to underdress.

In leggings, PJs, sneaks and sweats,

I cruise the town with no regrets

Because we cannot schmooze.

 

We stare at screens to catch a glance

Of folks who can’t see we’ve no pants.

We splurge on foods to snack in beds.

We’re bleary eyed with pounding heads.

Because we cannot schmooze.

 

We want to wear our fancy clothes

And breathe fresh air with unmasked nose.

We want to push and shove and hug,

And yet we can’t without a drug.

Because we cannot schmooze.

 

Get lost, Corona. Hit the bricks.

We’re sick of science, politics.

We’ve had enough, and we don’t care

Just get out of our uncut hair.

Because we cannot schmooze.

 

Pandemic life has no panache.

But will it come out in the wash?

c2021 by Linda Ann Nickerson

 

This poem incorporates a variety of prompts:

• Meme Express (“gut feeling”)
• Simply Snickers  (“snooze” and “lose”)

Image: Adapted from illustration by Louis Le Breton, 1863, public domain

Feel free to follow on Twitter, and follow Nickers and Ink Creative Communications on Facebook. Please visit my Amazon author page as well. And I am happy to share my RUNDERDOG ambassador code for 10% off on Bondi Band Athletic Headbands, Accessories, and Fashions. (Simply enter the code at online checkout.).