—Poetry by Lauren McBride, Texas, US
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
MY X-FILES
On blue days
On blue days
and Tuesdays,
I stroll among
my poems
that yearn yet
for publication—
sampling, tasting,
letting their words
l i n g e r
on my tongue,
listening
to them . . .
each one wondering
"What's wrong
with me?"
(prev. pub. in Songs of Eretz Poetry Review, January 8, 2016)
TO THE MAKERS OF BATH PRODUCTS
Those of us with poor vision
take off our glasses
when in the shower
and can no longer clearly
read the label on your product.
We already know which
brand we bought.
What we really want to see
in big, bold letters
when sopping wet
and half blind is whether
we just picked up shampoo,
conditioner, or body wash.
(prev. pub. in Your Daily Poem, April 18, 2022)
Those of us with poor vision
take off our glasses
when in the shower
and can no longer clearly
read the label on your product.
We already know which
brand we bought.
What we really want to see
in big, bold letters
when sopping wet
and half blind is whether
we just picked up shampoo,
conditioner, or body wash.
(prev. pub. in Your Daily Poem, April 18, 2022)
AT WIT’S END
suffer the gray —
not aging keratin
perhaps
perhaps gray matter
befuddled brain cells
leaking out
leaking out —
their purpose
forgotten
(This joined haiku first appeared in Songs of Eretz
Poetry Review, August 16, 2016.)
SPOILED
You knock at my door
with a sparkle in your eye,
head held high,
high hopes in your heart,
a rose in your hand,
a greeting on your lips,
and a greeting on mine:
"You're late."
(prev. pub. in Boston Literary Magazine, Fall 2008,
under the pen name Elizabeth L. Collins)
(prev. pub. in Boston Literary Magazine, Fall 2008,
under the pen name Elizabeth L. Collins)
PROCRASTINATOR’S PLIGHT
"I’ve put this off too long," I sigh,
"I’ve put this off too long," I sigh,
surveying the chaos before me.
With broom and duster in my hand
I can’t get past the doorway!
One shoe I spy, and my best shirt
where dust bunnies swirl in place.
Pop cans, socks, old magazines—
I’m starting to clear a space.
I venture a step and hear a crunch,
look down to find my glasses
lying crushed beneath a broken plate
caked with something like molasses.
The TV sits collecting dust—
remote's been lost for months.
As for walking over to turn it on?
Tried that exactly once:
Got tangled in a towel,
smacked my head against the wall.
Braced myself for impact—
piled laundry broke my fall.
Just found the missing car keys,
and a cockroach, thankfully dead.
Almost there, I can see it now.
I’ve finally found my bed!
(prev. pub. in Your Daily Poem, March 31, 2014)
________________________
Today’s LittleNip(s)
by Lauren McBride:
OLD FASHIONED
Storied keys feel left for dead.
Typewriter waits for fingertip tread—
mutely gathering dust instead.
(prev. pub. in Songs of Eretz Poetry Review, June 5, 2018)
* * *
potato chip bag
expiration date
unnecessary
(This sci[na]ku first appeared in Songs of Eretz
Poetry Review, February 8, 2015.)
* * *
twice a year
the same question,
"Do you floss?"
(This senryu first appeared in Failed Haiku, March 2020.)
_________________________
Lauren McBride finds inspiration in faith, family, nature, science, and membership in the Science Fiction & Fantasy Poetry Association (SFPA). Nominated for the Best of the Net, Pushcart, Rhysling, and Dwarf Stars Awards, her poetry has appeared internationally in speculative and mainstream publications for young adults and adults, including Asimov's and Fantasy & Science Fiction. Her chapbook, Aliens, Magic, and Monsters, is forthcoming from Hiraeth Publishing (2023). She enjoys swimming, gardening, baking, reading, writing, and knitting scarves for U.S. troops (https://opgrat.wordpress.com/2014/01/17/scarves-for-troops/). Lauren first visited the Kitchen on June 26 of this year. Welcome back, Lauren!
__________________________
—Medusa
(prev. pub. in Your Daily Poem, March 31, 2014)
________________________
Today’s LittleNip(s)
by Lauren McBride:
OLD FASHIONED
Storied keys feel left for dead.
Typewriter waits for fingertip tread—
mutely gathering dust instead.
(prev. pub. in Songs of Eretz Poetry Review, June 5, 2018)
* * *
potato chip bag
expiration date
unnecessary
(This sci[na]ku first appeared in Songs of Eretz
Poetry Review, February 8, 2015.)
* * *
twice a year
the same question,
"Do you floss?"
(This senryu first appeared in Failed Haiku, March 2020.)
_________________________
Lauren McBride finds inspiration in faith, family, nature, science, and membership in the Science Fiction & Fantasy Poetry Association (SFPA). Nominated for the Best of the Net, Pushcart, Rhysling, and Dwarf Stars Awards, her poetry has appeared internationally in speculative and mainstream publications for young adults and adults, including Asimov's and Fantasy & Science Fiction. Her chapbook, Aliens, Magic, and Monsters, is forthcoming from Hiraeth Publishing (2023). She enjoys swimming, gardening, baking, reading, writing, and knitting scarves for U.S. troops (https://opgrat.wordpress.com/2014/01/17/scarves-for-troops/). Lauren first visited the Kitchen on June 26 of this year. Welcome back, Lauren!
__________________________
—Medusa
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
