Itchy Fingers on the Keyboard

Published October 28, 2016 by Nan Mykel

Goodbye so soon, since I believe I’m going to join the November NaNoWriMo (sp?), with a goal of writing 50,000 words during the Thanksgiving month. At least I’ll have a good excuse for not roasting turkey.


He was curled up to himself like a babe,

the remains we found  around the bend

beside the brook, as we perambulated

without a care until this old fellow

came into view.  Poor, by his looks, and

quite dead and cold.  Who did he belong to,

who had his heart?



It’s difficult to work a jigsaw puzzle

without the big picture, and we don’t

get to see that until the end.




it sits there with its three sets

of horns and a mirror,  over

the hinged seat for galoshes,

upon four curved legs, its

century-old veneer  now


When I think of the dear faces

it has reflected I grow restive.

Are traces of  grandma not

in there behind the glass, nor Larry

who died as a child?

Did it not absorb anything it

reflected, not even grandmama who

never had to brush her own hair,

nor the slave who did?



Canes are such fun to use!

You can hobble so much faster,

even use them for swatting,

while my old heart fibrillates

at your touch.

(I reckon you know I’m pulling

your good leg.  Did you guess?)



If my calico cat is a male,

he’s transgender.

Did you know?



Are there really any flat earth people left?

How about Holocaust deniers?

Or UFO deniers?


If Free Will exists, as I’m told,

I will my verse to unfold.

Right here and now I direct,

and I WILL that it be perfect.


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