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Odds On
Leah Aplin
Seven little gentlemen
said they would be mine.
So I thought I’d keep them
dangling for a while.
One said to me
I should choose – couldn’t pick!
So now, instead of seven,
I have dangling… only six.
Six striking gentlemen
said they would be mine.
So I thought I’d practice
my juggling for a while.
One turned to me and
shouted meanly “Get a LIFE”.
Thank God I wasn’t ready
to end up his bullied wife.
Five charming gentlemen
said they would be mine.
I thought that everything
was going to be just fine.
One whispered to me
he was after something more;
and left me, weeping bitterly,
via my back door.
Four hunky gentlemen
said they would be mine.
I couldn’t figure out
which one would toe the line.
One never turned up
where he said he’d be,
so I thought it wiser
to set that one free.
Three funky gentlemen
said they would be mine.
I thought it would be OK
to pass away the time.
One was really boring
and he didn’t have a clue
of how to be happy with
out smoking what he grew.
Two nice gentlemen
said they would be mine.
I thought the situation
worked for me just fine.
But when I realized
what one liked to do for fun,
I thought it would better
to exit at a run.
One fine gentlemen
said he would be mine,
I said we might as well
try it for a while.
Why was he so shocked
that I wouldn’t be his mum?
And now I’ve decided
that I’m happy being ”1”.
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 Your are Dorothy Parker - a cute little smart-ass, armed with rapier wit and agile hands. You run with the foremost minds of your generation. You are appreciated in your own time, as well as after your death. Which Dead Poet Are You? brought to you by Quizilla |
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Inventory
by Dorothy Parker
Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I'd been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.
Three be the things I shall have till I die:
Laughter and hope and a sock in the eye.
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To Find out more about Dorothy Parker - Click Here
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Wilden Street
by Leah Aplin
Driving away from a love that’s not lost,
but sold.
Stolen for the price of a dinner.
A Carnation.
Good conversation.
Rear vision mirror showing a street I ignore
when driving
into arms providing protection
from Wolves
With carnations.
My head is infatuated.
Infected with words.
Material touch provides
an infusion of minds
But no guarantees.
Driving on to a love that’s not verbal.
Nor floral.
No formal communication
swamping my senses.
Just accepting.
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