Tea It Up and Take a Shot

Tea It Up and Take a Shot

Sometimes a chip lands in the drink

And sends us nearly past the brink.

We sip and spar,

And dream sub-par,

For nothing’s ever what we think.

It’s not that we’d improve a lie.

But some brews still a tongue may tie.

And roles reversed

Are unrehearsed;

We have to swing to qualify.

Forgive the metaphors I mix.

The game is rigged. There’s no quick fix.

Simplicity’s

No cup of tea.

And poets break the rules for kicks.

Alas, the tempest swirls the pot.

We’re in the rough. Give all you’ve got.

Go get a grip

And take a sip.

Another round brings food for thought. 

c2018 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:

Adapted by this user from vintage artwork.

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Run It Off

Run It Off

Some folks jog to take off weight,

Burning calories they ate.

That’s what caught me, years ago;

Now I stride my woes to throw.

I run in circles, run for luck,

Run a fever, run amok,

Run for cover, run across,

Never just to run for loss.

Cadence calls me to persist,

Sorrow’s symbols to resist.

Counting combos, on I trudge,

Stepping past the daily drudge.

Every mile, worry fades.

My new normal beats blockades.

Mid-run, I begin to swing.

Ever gasping, still I sing.

Seldom do I seek to stop:

Mostly, I am chop-chop-chop.

Could it be I’m overbooked,

Or endorphins have me hooked?

c2017 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:

Adapted by this user from vintage artwork.

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

April A to Z Blog Challenge

National Poetry Writing Month / NaPoWriMo

Five-Minute Friday: “sing”

Meme Express: “new normal”

Simply Snickers: “cadence,” “combo,” and “cymbal” or “symbol”

#atozchallenge

#napowrimo

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

Grouch Potato

Grouch Potato

Of misery, he maketh much.

His life is always in the clutch.

Disasters loom

With gloom and doom,

But never near him do they touch.

This armchair quarterback and grouch

Does holler orders from the couch.

No pep-talk cheers;

He festers fears.

We hold our ears and whisper, “Ouch.”

It may be money, health, or news –

There’s no escaping, no excuse.

Just “Woe is me”

And “Let me be.”

Malaise grows weak with overuse.

Though I’m not one to groan or sigh,

The team would like to take a bye.

Give us a break

From bellyache,

Life’s pretty good, despite his cry.

c2017 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:

Adapted by this user from vintage artwork.

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

April A to Z Blog Challenge

National Poetry Writing Month / NaPoWriMo

Mad Kane Humor: “buy,” “bye,” “by,” or “bi” - LIMERICK

Simply Snickers: “miser” or “misery,” “money,” “maybe,” and “much”

#atozchallenge

#napowrimo

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