Roommate Wanted!!

I’m looking for a roommate,
Not looking for a friend,
I can’t find anybody,
I’m reaching my wit’s end.

The last roommate I had,
I didn’t see too often,
She liked to hang upside down,
And sleep in a coffin.

The one I had before that,
She liked to stay up late,
And tell me the insipid,
Details of her dates.

And one had 90 cats,
And one that never cleaned,
And one that never paid the rent,
And one was downright mean.

I’m looking for a roommate,
Is it too much to assume,
There are any normal people,
Looking for a room.

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The Pepper and The Gourd: A Love Story

Said the pepper to the gourd,
“I’ll throw myself upon the sword,
To attest to our loving,
In a baked dish in the oven.”

Said the gourd to the pepper,
“Fitting we should die together,
For our time until we’re old,
In a stew or casserole.”

But their love was not to be,
For it extremely unlikely,
To grant the dear lovers their wish,
And end up baked in the same dish.

So the gourd would fly the coop,
And end up in a tasty soup,
Where he sought out consolation,
With all sorts of vegetation.

And in time wouldn’t you know,
He hooked up with a potato,
They swore themselves in love forever,
And rarely thought about the pepper.

Who was never baked, grilled or fried,
Forsaken ’til the day he died,
Some say it was a broken heart,
But I say it was mold and rot.

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The Woes of A Bargain Shopper

A pair of crazy sunglasses,
A candle for a cake,
A plastic toy for my daughter,
Which will most likely break.

A pack of colored condoms,
An egg coloring kit,
A matching bra and panty set,
That may or may not fit.

Suspicious off brand batteries,
A dingy dinner plate,
Christmas candy bordering on,
It’s expiration date.

A bottle of green nail polish,
Which appears slightly used,
Vitamins and meds not quite,
FDA approved.

But either way I’m buying it,
On that I am intent,
How can I afford not to when,
They’re just 99 cents?

And going to the check out stand,
I can’t believe my luck,
Until my bill is totaled and,
Comes to 99 bucks.

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A Day In The Life

“Reporting to Commander 4,”
“Borlax what are you seeing?”
“My radar scanner here on Earth,
Detects a Human Being.

She looks onto a giant screen,
As if she is obsessed,
A smaller one’s on the table where,
She does something called Text.

Stealthily I creep behind,
To have a better look,
She’s doing something called Blogging,
And she’s staring at Facebook.

And it seems as if the Humans,
Use this medium to share,
Insipid details of their lives,
While others pretend to care.

She jabs at her Texting Machine,
As quietly I lurk,
And speaks into it “Honey I’m
just now leaving from work.”

She gets into a vehicle,
And from what I can surmise,
It’s like one of our spaceships,
But it doesn’t even fly.

She reaches her destination,
Must be her Living Quarters,
To 2 simian like creatures,
She calls Son and Daughter.

Then she goes into the kitchen,
And much to my dismay,
Pulls out a box with processed bits,
Sitting on a plastic tray.

It is placed in a contraption,
Until she hears a bell,
It seems these processed bits are now,
Heated but not too well.

The Humans sit at a table,
They consume the Food intently,
I assume this is nourishment,
Which they enjoy immensely.

Then to another giant screen,
The Humans congregate,
And slip into what appears to be,
A vegetative state.

While they look at Tiny Humans,
Who do various things,
So I guess the Tiny Human’s lives,
Are far more interesting.

Although to me it all seems trite,
That they are so obsessed,
(Though I would not mind finding out,
What happens to Walter next.)

They sit around for quite some time,
Then finally go to sleep,
And so it seems that my study,
Of Humans is complete.

So now I report to Starboard,
On my hi tech transmitter,
#nointelligentlife,
And post it on The Twitter.”

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Love For Sale

One ugly argyle sweater,
That he wore day and night,
He thought he was a hipster’s dream,
I couldn’t stand the sight.

One ‘I Love My Boyfriend’ T-shirt,
For he hadn’t a clue,
As proven in this unused pair,
Of underwear for two.

One beat up leather wallet,
I’m looking to discard,
Complete with personal I.D.,
And his credit card.

One cubic zirconia ring,
At which I was enraged,
He said it was for me to show,
We were pre pre-engaged.

One double sided picture frame,
Worn but not too bad,
Which held a picture of us both,
Opposite his mom and dad.

One lock set which was removed from,
The front door of my dwelling,
Ensuring he can not retrieve,
His things before I sell them.

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Cheap Plastic Pens

One day my words will dry up,
Like a cheap plastic pen,
Will I proceed to attempt,
To write as I do then?

And will you still find my words,
Marginally pretty,
Comment or give it a like,
Simply out of pity?

Perhaps just as a habit,
I’ll write until I drop,
And no one will be kind enough,
To say it’s time to stop.

Maybe hoping to recreate,
Genius of days before,
Or craving human contact,
Or maybe I’m just bored.

Cranking out a hackneyed thought,
A hamster on a wheel,
And could it really be so far,
From how Mick Jagger feels.

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The Cab Driver From Hell

As I entered the cab I knew that something wasn’t right,
The fog ensnared the headlights on that cold, winter night.
The driver sized me up and down with a suspicious look,
As horror seized my very soul and so from fright I shook.

Conversation not his forte and so silence ensued,
Just once his door did creak ajar he gave a gruff ‘where to?’.
And if this cab ride would end well, somehow I did doubt,
But I did fear for my life at trying to get out.

Concentrating on the face of my frightening escort,
Should I ever make it out alive to file a report.
But as we sailed through soupy skies suspicion was increased,
His features morphed from that of man to skeleton to beast.

Through rutted streets and potholed turns, the ride was getting gnarly.
I searched for his driver’s I.D. but it read only ‘Charlie’.
It occurred to me where we headed I did not know,
But only that Manhattan’s lights had faded long ago.

But rather than protest now I thought I’d simply wait,
If only to prolong the meeting of my ugly fate.
And so it did cross my mind to help my situation,
Perhaps he’d see me as a friend if I made conversation.

Although not easy to find words I thought I’d take a stab,
And ask him ’bout intriguing people he drove in his cab.
He greets me with an icy stare to make the heavens freeze,
But mutters on about Virgil, Dante and Hercules.

And it was at that point I knew the end was guaranteed,
So I lost all composure and for dear life I did plead.
But it was all for naught as I came to the realization,
That we’d already come upon our eerie destination.

So I fell down on my knees and up to him I cried,
“I will do anything if you don’t leave me here to die,
In this godforsaken place I beg and scream for mercy!”
And fell upon the sign that says ‘Welcome to New Jersey’.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2015/01/14/creating-suspense/

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The Room

His schedule is synchronized,
With cycles of the moon,
A piano that forever plays,
The Addams family tune.

Pale girls adorn his banisters,
At length they hang around,
Wearing their high stiletto heels,
And vintage velvet gowns.

He tells everyone his best friend’s,
A poet down the way,
The only one who understands,
Every last word he says.

They made up a secret language,
Deep in their conveying,
Although if asked they will admit,
They know not what they’re saying.

And his residence of choice is,
All he ever wanted,
To live in a creepy mansion,
Well known to be haunted.

Kept at a chilly 65,
This curmudgeonly host,
Does his best to keep guests out,
And accommodate the ghosts.

But there is one room in the house,
No one knows the function,
Could it be some sort of dojo?
Or maybe it’s a dungeon!

Some swear that it’s a slaughterhouse,
And he’s a cannibal,
Who sucks out corpse’s blood for youth,
And other animals.

Or maybe a shrine to himself,
To blissfully revel,
Or maybe where he’ll sacrifice,
Young girls to the devil.

But if some evil does lurk there,
He’ll make no exception,
And whether for his privacy,
Or for your protection.

But I think that’s its just a ruse,
Surely we’ll discover,
Him in there hugging teddy bears,
And Skyping with his mother.

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Intruder Alert

Barbie lies decapitated,
With plastic staring eyes,
Alice takes a great leap down,
The rabbit hole and dies.

Aurora grabs the Batmobile,
Mulan in Barbie’s jet,
Rubber burns on Los Santos streets,
A drag race to the death.

Belle and Jasmine are on a mission,
To uncover government lies,
Beneath their million petticoats,
They’re really ninja spies.

Elsa schemes world domination,
Someone has to stop her,
So then G.I. Joe arrives,
In his helicopter.

Then the Big Princess appears,
Clearly full of woe,
She fights off the villain screaming,
“This isn’t how it goes!”

He shrugs and slinks off in defeat,
She calls on Agent Mother,
Who says, “Well that is what you get,
When you play with your brother.”

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Shoes of Aquarius

The year was 1969,
The Age of Aquarius,
She teetered on my platform heels,
With a gate precarious.

But time gave way to family,
So she would deposit,
Me in the deep recesses,
Of her walk in closet.

And one day while sorting out, She,
Gave a rueful smile,
Thinking it highly unlikely,
I’d return to style.

And so into the dark confines,
Of a donation drop,
I ended up gracing the shelves,
Of a local thrift shop.

Where the young girls would laugh at me,
And mock me and deplore,
And say “Oh God these look just like,
Some thing my mother wore.”

And after years spent on those shelves,
I ate the bitter pill,
Of being deemed unsellable,
And transferred to good will.

Where I stared at dingy walls, The,
Army of salvation,
Which without doubt marked the height,
Of my humiliation.

The laughter would continue,
And I would do my time,
With no one to dare to spring me,
For $1.99.

Until one day a girl came in,
And so did drop her jaw,
With a look not of derision,
But more like that of awe.

Exclaiming her excitement, She,
Could not believe her luck,
To have me in her clutches,
For a couple of bucks.

And treated me as a piece,
Of the utmost refinement,
And to the next thrift store I went,
But now on consignment.

They put me on a pedestal,
And just like days of yore,
I was treated as the finest,
Item in the store.

Until that fateful day came by,
And I was blown over,
As who did walk into the shop,
But my dear first owner!

Who looked me over wondering,
Although she did not know,
Whether I could be that same pair,
That she wore years ago.

But either way she insisted,
And tried to make an offer,
Resolute was she to bring me,
On home to her daughter.

Alas no deal was made that day,
So ended the exchange,
My vintage status valued me,
Well out of her price range.

This poem is dedicated to my sole sister and fellow blogger Joanne Sisco at  https://mylifelivedfull.wordpress.com/

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