Childhood, a Pantoum
Pat’s family on the outside could impress
They moved around seeking and finding less
Hidden, Pat’s dad, a mad alcoholic
Hidden, Pat’s mom, clinically depressed
They moved around seeking and finding less
Hidden, Pat’s sister was manic-depressive
Hidden, Pat’s mom, clinically depressed
Every day Pat dreamed of fleeing home
Hidden, Pat’s sister, manic-depressive
Pat played outside as much as Pat could
Every day Pat dreamed of fleeing home
The shy dad, a famous research doctor
Pat romped outside as often as Pat could
Two great pals Pat had in the neighborhood
Pat’s shy dad, a famous research doctor
Pat’s mom, a doctor who stayed at home
Two great pals Pat had in the neighborhood
Hidden, Pat’s dad, a mad alcoholic
Pat’s mother, a doctor who stayed at home
Two times Pat’s mother tried to kill herself
Hidden, Pat’s dad was a mad alcoholic
Pat’s mom did time on psychiatric wards
Pat’s mother, a doctor who stayed at home
Pat was too young to understand compassion
Pat’s mother did time on psychiatric wards
Pat ran on survival and did not learn love
Pat, too young to understand compassion
Pat’s family on the outside could impress
Binky Villanelle
No, you can’t compose a poem about a binky,
The voice of the rational brain insists.
Binkies aren’t serious enough, though tricky.
A binky’s to calm a cranky baby
When the crying insists and persists.
No, you can’t compose a poem about a binky.
A binky is a baby’s sweet whiskey,
Fake tit of distress, that’s why it exists.
Binkies aren’t serious enough, though tricky,
In some cultures they’re considered kinky,
The way babies grip them in stiff fists.
No, you can’t compose a poem about a binky.
Stealing poor baby’s binky is frisky.
Some say taking that knob brings an abyss.
Binkies aren’t serious enough, though tricky.
What if down the kid’s pipe it goes twisty?
Baby starts to choke, you could slit your wrists.
No, you can’t compose a poem about a binky.
Binkies aren’t serious enough, though tricky.
Nostalgia Villanelle
In our homes, families must now cluster
Playing video games, watching TV,
Ignoring the talking heads’ shrill bluster.
Who recalls the joys of the newspaper
In these Covid pandemic times, whoopee?
In our homes, families must now cluster.
The paper used to offer such succor,
As you balanced its many sheets on a knee,
Ignoring the talking heads’ shrill bluster.
Columns, horoscopes, puzzles, remember?
It set your inner timer to be free.
In our homes, families must now cluster.
All those sections to read, what a caper!
All at your fingertips, such peaceful glee,
Ignoring the talking heads’ shrill bluster!
No talking head needed as instructor,
Your mind once on quiet print worked to see.
In our homes, families must now
cluster,
Ignoring the talking heads’ shrill bluster.