The Prodigal Blogger

Poetry | Posted by Jannie on 13 September 2011 @ 1:52 PM (66) Comments

art_jannie_5

After days spent ambling

mostly peaceful backroads

of familial forest and field

——————————

the prodigal commenter

taps her blog blinker and zips

onto the freeway of friends

————————–

she hopes will smilingly wave and

welcome her back into their lanes,

all sins of her absence absolved.

prodigal_jannie

jannie_in_bubble

Photo effects are “sunburst” illumination and geometric “spherize” in Corel’s Paint Pro.

Posted for dVerse Poetry, Open Link Tuesday — weekly at 3:00 EST.

dverse_poets_pub

Thanks for your comments. I’ll be around to your blogs with a glass of wine soon, whoohoooo.

xoxo

The Big 1-Oh

The Pea | Posted by Jannie on 11 September 2011 @ 12:39 PM (37) Comments

ten_pancakes

Baby, you’ve hardly changed a bit in 10 years!

baby_pink_hat

Even the hat still fits. Kind of.

Seems like 10 minutes ago I was doing up your birth announcement, not 10 years.

TEN YEARS!!!

birth_announcement

Happy Birthday, Baby!!

Love Mom & Dad.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

When Bob Jumped Off The Garage Roof With Delilah

Poetry | Posted by Jannie on 6 September 2011 @ 1:50 PM (77) Comments

flashdancing_squirrels

They say Bob sported only
a limestone ascot that night.
Delilah was nude too, save for
her boa of lit birthday candles
and boots of Spanish leather.

– nice boots, with Samson’s
biceps tooled onto the thighs
and scrapbooks of his broken
ukulele and his grandmother’s
strudel carved into the soles.

Anyway…

As Bob and Delilah, holding hands,
plunged into a vat of stray cats,
they cringed at the landing sure
to hurt more than a guided tour
of the Early Dentistry Museum.

Yes, a place with photos like this…

early_dentistry

But lo and William be Holden,
their fall was broken by a magic
carpet ride of lumberjack poems
whisking them safely to Danny’s
for a nightcap of caramel stew.

Danny’s, with patrons pretty-much
naked too except for fluffy crowns
of Russian flash-dancing squirrels
and socks knit from curtains of sky,
Bob and Delilah felt right at home.

Meanwhile Samson, chain-smoking
American Spirits back on the roof,
broke into the most heartbreaking
version of “Why, why, why, Delilah?”
since Tom Jones lassoed the moon.

~~~ end of poem.

(Sorry this poem is so nuts. Can you ever forgive me?)