IF I COULD

The prompt is "luscious

IF I COULD
I would live on words
would chew grainy words like pumpernickel, lick
slick words that slide against the tongue
and melt like lilikoi 
luscious Hawaiian ice-upon-a-stick.
Nor would I live on food words only
but feast on all the savory
flavored dictionary words
the meaty ones like buxom and contemplate 
seasoned with peppery sprinkles
of quip and tipple 
and I would nibble the edges
of flat round cookies of extrapolate, reforestation
and tickle my palette with perfumed words:
Aldebaran, oriental, satin.

I would open my Webster's Unabridged
and grow fat on specious, unadulterated, irresolute.
Never, never would I grow hungry.

I would give thanks to the great god Gutenberg
and lay me down to sleep
after I sip a soothing drink brewed from
soporific, subliminal, and seraphim
and I will dream of books and libraries
burgeoning with sustenance. 

Fuzzy Memory

The
prompt 
is
fuzzy



               FUZZY MEMORY
(WHY I WAS NOT A CONTESTANT
                ON JEOPARDY)

   My mind has a million niches for
   odd bits of soteric lore.
   It's not the storage that I lack
   but just means to fish them back!

SPRING

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is "seasoned".
SPRING

Spring flutters in, fabulous flirt,
And flicks the last snows from her skirt.
Released from storms' prison,
Our garden hopes risen,
We neighbors are sharing the dirt.

I wrote this this week for Mad Kane's Limerick off.

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is "SEASONED".  This was written this last week on Mad Kane's Limerick-Off

SPRING

Spring flutters in, fabulous flirt
And flicks the last snow from her skirt.
Now freed from storms' prison,
Our garden hopes risen,
We neighbors are sharing the dirt.

TIME TRAVELERS

The prompt for for Sunday Scribblings is "It's Out There"

TIME TRAVELERS
We sought this day in many a tale
of rocket trail to alien world.
We bridged the rifts of space to sail
to far star-studded galaxies
with chair-bound ease.

The future beckoned.  Now, instead,
it looms, hard headlined fact.  Our world
grows strange.  We step with grudging tread
into a mapless land and cold.
       Too soon
       Too old.