#mrs
there it was, floating in the air,
A pink balloon, tied to my chair.
"Pop me!!!", it said,
but a caution voice was in my head.
A pin magically appeared on the chair,
its point was fine and coloured in care.
My hand reached out to pick it up
But my muscle ceased and i was stopped.
i turned away and i started to walk,
but then i heard the screeching of chalk.
my eyes had made me come to see
the scariest monstrosity.
"Boo!!", i woke up in a scream
all of it was just a dream.
The pink balloon that was floating in the air,
was tied with a present and placed on my chair.
By: Mrs. A.N.R.H Edwards
Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 1:21 PM UTC
it's not so fun to be made of lead,
they sharpen the tip of your head
then you're no longer needed
when you're short and almost dead.
they write with you, they erase your effort,
it's more fun to be a pen,
at least you wouldn't be chewed on
when you're used by office men.
it's not so fun but at least you draw
and you're easy to erase,
you're more important than you believe,
you can be used in many ways.
but who wants to be a pencil
with such a short ife?
and when you can't be neatly trimmed,
they bruise you with a knife.
By: Mrs. A.N.R.H Edwards
Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 1:13 PM UTC
Dearest tree of life giver of life lover of life I find you in every tree every twin butterfly in wild gardens
I see you in my own reflection
Come to me love
I am totally found in memories of you otherwise totally lost
You are my true north
The mirror of you is besides me to show me where I am
And a compass rests besides my bed pointing towards you
Dearest Darling
Oh how I love you
Miss you want you
~~~~~
By: Mr and Mrs Andrews and Karijinbba..
May 21, 2024
May 21, 2024 at 9:24 PM UTC
No distance is for reproach.
No gaps exist that can't rebuild
fallen bridges.
Silence was only to retain,
one such moment of perfect beauty.
That mother's perfect Day.
To be still is knowing the ways
of the Universe and its creator
as in walking side by side.
No arrogance ever known or intended
no disobedient streak no malice ritual performed.
only wrong medical advice the culprit.
my demise but I raise triumphant
motherhood against tirani.
Being voiceless was to let you speak. ignorance was obliterated by your wisdom for loving me,
and betting on my future.
My being afraid ended with your hello your songs and poetry.
I remain pregnant drunk in love
and joyfully thinking of you.
My mystery twin flame,
from beyond, still you fill me up.
Anxiously patiently I wait for your return your presence.
my powerful great fortune
talisman of happiness is only you.
sent from another world.
You are my one best moment
of perfect beauty.
I know I am yours.
I stood in awe voiceless in shock.
I feeling alive someone like you
cared for me for so long.
I walk in gratitude feeling blessed.
I return to your power house
of freedom true love and I grab what you give honor what you don't.
Accepting whatever blessing
or crumb granted.
without selfish requests.
I remain your faithful student
my first, last best teacher
best friend, husband lover and to my eternal joy the best father to our children in every lifetime.
You are my lover of life, giver of life
My one moment of perfect beauty
forever only you, my past
my present, my future my best poet,
my everything.
~~~~~~
All Rights Reserved
in memory of a great portrait
Mr and Mrs Andrews.
by Karijinbba.
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 4:34 PM UTC
***** Hands
Are they clean?
Pontius Pilate, washing those hands that night, now are the filthy deeds made white!
America, do tell about the politicians blind-eyed toward homeless people in the streets, tell me about children starving to death?
Does a wealthy man cleanse hiimself as the blood leaves his hands?
Banning guns & glocks, as girls
are sold into slavery, in the blocks.
A gift for kids to go to school
It's not a gift to get shot up.
From poverty to bullies to school shootings, Mrs. Liberty has lost her footing.
When we go home, locking doors and turning the noise up, is washing of the hands with soap, making us whole?
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 11:48 PM UTC
My name is my submission to male dominance
I am somebody's daughter,
somebody's wife.
I willingly call myself so
It's because I love my father
I love my husband
And I am honoured to be called
In his name
Usually
But sometimes
When a ray of anger rushes into my heart
By the feminine idea of self-respect
I wonder
if my father loves me, why is his love trumping of my mother who bore me inside her body for months of restless ease?
if my husband loves me, why has he never consider calling himself Mr. Mine, where he my husband and I his wife?
But I tuck these thoughts away
They are too balancing of power, too simply different.
I mustn't let the patriarchy hear, or I will dishonour my worth
As a woman.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
I am Ms not Mrs
And will forever be
I really can't abide it
Why is it you can not see
It's an insult to my status
A reminder of the past
And one I have moved on from
Finally at last
So get it right people
I simply will not be
A Mrs anymore
It really isn't me!!!!!!
(C) Pixievic
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 7:20 AM UTC
Mrs. Claus was at the door
Making sure that Santa knew
He had to see the doctor
He must be there by two
Santa gruffed and grumbled
Said there's too much to be done
"You know I hate the doctor"
"The doctor's just no fun"
Mrs. Claus held fast and said
"You do this every year"
"and you always have a new excuse"
"when the appointment time is near"
Santa, said he'd do it
Although, it was done under duress
He could run an elven workshop
But the doctor, was more stress
He made it to the office
At two, precisely on the nose
The first thing the nurse said was
"Santa, take off all your clothes"
"You know we have to weigh you"
"It's in the contract that you signed"
"A little extra weight shift"
"Could get the sleigh all misaligned"
The scale said way past jolly
He was twenty pounds past plump
He was just below horrendous
Santa Claus was one fat lump
The doctor read the clipboard
And made a tsk tsk tsking sound
He said "Santa, you're much bigger"
"You're almost 5 full feet around"
"I have with me a letter"
"That the vet asked me to read"
"It says unless you drop some blubber"
"Four more reindeer you will need"
"Now, every story book out there"
"Names eight reindeer in line"
"And since you hired Rudolph"
"A lot have you with nine"
"But the vet now says you need thirteen"
"To get up in the sky"
"You've got to change your diet"
"Santa, please lay off the pie"
"I'm not saying all at once"
"But, you've got to drop some weight"
"Or, you'll be dropping gifts by plane"
"And you'll still be over weight"
Santa tried a little laugh,
Not a full out ** ** **
Truth be told, he'd lose his breath
He knew the weight would have to go
He got down off the table
Put on his hat, and Santa Suit
He looked as red as ever
When he tried to reach his boot
The doctor said "Good God Man"
"You can't go up like that"
Santa said "I'm fine doc"
"The kids want a Santa that is fat"
"There's a difference between jolly"
"Like the elf you're supposed to be"
"But Santa, count your chins man,"
"I lose count at twenty three"
"The elves are under orders"
"Not to load the magic sleigh"
"Until you commit to weight loss"
"And you promise right away"
"I know that you are Santa"
"And for this I may get coal"
"But, your wife, Santa...she scares me"
"She said she'd put me in a hole"
"Santa, lose some poundage"
"Give it just a little try"
"It's not right...thirteen reindeer"
"Flying through the Christmas sky"
"I know it's confidential"
"what has happened here today"
"But, Santa...I will tell her"
"If you don't...and right away"
Santa, said he'd try to
He said "just tell me what to do"
"Truth be told there doctor"
"The woman scares me too!!!"
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
I've always been the Queen to his bed
the ache that swollen in his chest
where he engraved my first name like vow
and called out his whole as mine
so that I'd remember to return back
to the castle inside his cloud nine
that way I know I am never alone
for I have his last name to speak for my own
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
This is Mrs Unknown.
She likes to roam
the rainbow
at night
or in her dreams
And fly with her razor fingers
splayed like the falling stars
whos dust cascades
from the Heavens
into her fried egg eyes.
She likes to ballet
dance across the unwinding
circled junctions, like the moon, and
Sing song while her trainers jog
in rhythm to the bells and belts of starlight.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
Black Rook In Rainy Weather
On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident
To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.
Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent
Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent
By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant
Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content
Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.
The Response
Even while flashbulbs go out, every now and then, we all must gather our arms and legs in a heap of human kindling, to rap tap tap on the downstairs neighbors door- for a set of candles, perhaps a chance to go completely insane for one terse moment when the hyperbole of vowels just don't matter anymore.
And speaking of the sordid state of griseous gull-like creatures. Ravenous ravens gnawing outside the window of the kitchen table. How boring life can become, for at the moment, when we are not biting our nails, playing dress up, or playing doctor- all tied up. Or maybe even burying our heads in the looks of rooks or with our noses brimming over with the tops of books.
The tea we have set in the study awaits us, as we all have to drink our tea some time.
Just don't leave the lights on baby. Who needs lamps at full lux at high noon any who? You, Mrs. Sylvia Plath Hughes? Maybe you ought to buy a book of stamps- at the nearest Hobby Lobby, pack a paper bag with an apple and a 'sammich', and list formally your complaints.
We can't all waste our time narrating other people's lives in the third person.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC