You are currently browsing the monthly archive for November, 2007.
Windows at Lord &
Taylor gleam with holiday
scenes. Small worlds of joy
The heart of the world.
Like fireworks that never fade
explosions of light.
Bryant Park transformed,
craft booths shine with baubles, lit
from within with smiles
Off to NYC
tomorrow. Garmin riding
shotgun. Can’t get lost.
My daughters watch the
Gilmour Girls non-stop, wishing
I were Lorelei.
Oprah and Barack
sit in a tree, campaign for
the Presidency.
Going to New York
to be on TV. Need new
clothes. A tent would work.
HGTV shows
designer homes while I nest
in my own clutter.
To eat or not to
eat? My stomach says yes, my
hips scream don’t you dare.
Should I say what I
feel, or what attracts readers?
Tempting to sell out.
I keep coming to
post like a lover checking
for text messages.
Silence erases
thoughts and stress like dry markers
wiped clean from white boards.
I really should start
dinner. But husband’s gone, so
I’ll just blog and starve.
Kmart opens at
4am. Outlet mall at
midnight. Who needs sleep?
Post-tryptophan, we
watch Forrest Gump and digest
the day’s memories.
Don’t count calories.
Savor silken pumpkin, tart
cranberries. Taste joy.
Tempting smells - so strong
they nearly satiate the
appetite - drift by.
We are all in search
of the quote that defines us.
Self in sentence form.
Why this ache, an itch
no hand can scratch, a splinter
no tweezer can pull?
Times like these, a hot
cup of tea, a soft blanket
is all that’s needed.
A blowtorch melting
a block of ice from within,
pain made transparent.
They’ll watch football. We’ll
cook. Men and women. Hunters
and gatherers still.
Accomplishment is
a relative term. You live,
breathe, think. That’s enough.
Like a cracked eggshell,
once broken it cannot be
redeemed nor reforged.
The more I compute,
the lazier I get, and the
saggier the couch.
If every meal
were cereal, we’d all have
more hours in the day.
Heavy blanket weighs
you down, yet cocoons you. Why
bother to crawl out?
Brine, barbecue, deep
fry, roast, smoke? How many ways
can you do one Tom?
I’m the kitchen air
traffic controller, and the
oven my runway.
If you clear out the
fridge for the turkey, then where’s
the other food go?
Canned pumpkin sold out.
Damned overachievers! I’m
a “last-minute” type.
He made Johnny Depp
a household name, and keeps Hot
Topic in business.
Busy is when you
sit down to watch a movie
and you fall asleep.
A-Depp-t cult classic
fairy tale, gothic icon
all rolled into one.
Too many carbs. Need
tea, coffee, power drink. No
rest for the weary.
I start out strong with
good intentions. Sit at the
computer. Day’s shot.
Steamroller coated
with glass shards rolls back and forth
just behind by eyes.
First snowfall blankets
unraked beds of leaves. Nature’s
default is beauty.
Don’t you know no girls
allowed? Threaten the big boys,
they call you a bitch.
I’d have crossed party
lines for you ’til today. Where
was your chivalry?
Coffee with M is
a reminder of what smart
women are about.
If her hair was much
bigger you’d mistake it for
blonde cotton candy.
Any more coffee
and I’ll have energy to
power six cities.
Dude. Complete strangers
read the byproducts of life
inside my head. Sweet.
Discreetly I eye
them waiting for that gesture
that unlocks the soul.
Why bother with this
service when I keep up with
A Haiku A Day?
An email from a
stranger descending into
madness unnerved me.
Guy next to me walked
out to take a call. His life
opened on his Dell.
In another world
I am prettier, skinny,
naturally blonde.
Cup of coffee gets
you free wireless. Suburban
pretty people lunch.
Google found me with
wind for thursday november
2007.
Is America
ready for its first female
president? Ask Bill.
Time for another
Ron Paul mention so I can
get my page views up.
She said her dog’s paws
smelled like Doritos. “She’s nuts”
I thought. Then I sniffed.
Secrets like splinters
lodged down deep tear you apart
from the inside out.