4h Vicki
Haiku Donna
Once upon time
there was a shampoo bottle
called Miss Strawberry

All day long she sat
on edge of bath just staring
at washed out tiles

Then one day when she
woke up she notice a white
bottle of shampoo

Hi there strawberry
I'm a conditioner , my
name is Coconut

Together they laughed
and made bubbles and even
had fun foam parties

They both loved water
Sometimes there slide down plug hole
Into a tunnel

Then they went splish splash
into the drain , but really
it's a water park

full of slides and fun
tunnels , lots of drain people
lived down there too , there

was a shaver called
Razors , he was like a dog
And barked all day long!!

And lots of hair dudes
and hair women , they carried
a net to catch hair

to make more hairy
people , they all supervised
the fun water park

Strawberry blew fun
bubbles whilst coconut made chilled out smoothie drinks

When the day came to
an end , strawberry went to sleep
feeling neatly sweet

And as for Mr
Coconut he hula danced
and sang lovely songs

to cheer up Edith
the tap , who cried every night
But by morning light

her tears had dried up :-))
I was inspired with little story I cleaned bathroom today and my imagination had fun and I just let it all go and it was fun x ;, hope u all well and thank u to those who sent me lovely messages I so appreciate very much <3
It's hard to stay away from hp as I love to write but this one got the better of me as it was fun fun fun  , have  lovely weekend all <3 x
                         ­    simply
  Jun 7 Vicki
Melissa S
I watch as an older woman in a red flowery
dress holding yellow flowers looks out to the sea
Searching for the young man she fell
in love with at the ripe age of twenty three
He gave his life that day on the Normandy shore
on the sixth of June the year was forty-four
Every year this woman comes to the sea to remember
For when she said her marriage vows
she meant them to last to the end of her forever
She throws the yellow flowers out to the sea
Always grateful for the love they shared
and proud that he fell in the cause for the free
Remembering the 74th anniversary of D-Day
  Jun 7 Vicki
Wk kortas

Such is their reward, then,
This graceful bridge bisecting the lake at Bemus Point,
Not far from the spot where Bishop Vincent
Parsed the geography of the holy land,
Narrow beaches fronting a higgledy-piggledy of cottages,
Most comfortable but staid,
Though the odd McMansion grotesquerie
Has sprouted here and there,
Courtesy of some frozen-food magnate in Buffalo
Or casino second-in-command from Niagara Falls
(Those more famous waters, apparently,
Insufficient to slake ones thirst for the gaudy)
In any case, likely no more than admired from afar
By those generations of boys
Who, leaving their spot on the line at Crescent Tools
Or fields rife with bumble-striped heifers,
Never returned, drill press unmanned, corn crib unattended.


You’d been on those waters once, however,
Spending an afternoon both bewitching and idyllic
On a dock fronting a relatively humble beach bungalow
(A friend of a family friend or relative’s place,
The whos and whys lost to the manila folders of recollection)
With a girl of ten, perhaps twelve at the outside,
Beautiful in an untrammeled manner,
Or at least primarily, unconsciously so,
And you remember her having green eyes
Which utterly belied description
(Though that was all long ago,
Such reminiscence likely no more than the rheuminess of memory,
And you have not returned to that shoreline since.)


Such daydreams are perilous, on many levels,
At seventy miles per hour even more so,
And you shake yourself back to the present
While approaching yet another bridge
(Humble span noting humble beginnings)
Honoring the region’s most famous daughter and her husband,
Who did indeed have much ‘splaining to do,
As you proceed eastbound toward Salamanca
(Wholly owned by the Seneca Nation,
Those non-native descendants of Mertzes and McGillicuddys
Paying rent and fealty to the tribe each year)
And thence to the slump-shouldered hills
Which shelter the sauntering Allegheny,
The pines thick, green, inscrutable,
Beyond our everday squabbles,
Answerable to nothing but time itself.
Vicki Jun 6
a crushed
nectarine colored
sunset wraps
herself around
my house,
my neck, an odd
disarray of grays
and dark blues
in tendrils like
chemtrails, like
snakes in the world
ready to finish
us off, so rumpled
and disheveled
is the sun in the sky
as she makes
her way down
my body.
  Jun 6 Vicki
Sukanya Sinha Roy
Growling and barking
to scare away half-truths
They pissed on fences
to mark territories
You stay on your side and I stay on mine
Yet together, their tongues
lapped to quench
from a cracked bowl
of mud- stained rain
half- empty in joy and half- filled with pain

Once they dared
to jump the well
and half- kiss and half- tell
just to see
if they could really turn into Prince
And they did, yes, they did
But the fairy tale turned out half-true
so they still wore
their flicking tongues of glue

of what they'd become
they waited near the garbage bin
as divine as their half-touched sin
the only place
that seemed as bizarre
as hideous in riddles
as they were

The dust storm
did the rest of the trick
Carried them off the ground
with flying rubbish
Boats of half-torn paper
and billowing plastic
Every body felt happy to be flying at least
Kite faces
half- angel and half -beast
  Jun 6 Vicki
like waves
in the stormy sky.

worn out,
the silence
- it sounds

ticking you away

and you don't know
what it means

like that tree in a
slow motion death.

how could you tell it,
listening to the birds
in the still light?
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