Ocdbloggergirl's Blog: OCD, Life, and Other Misunderstandings

More Mental Malaise, Less Donald Trump

Family — April 25, 2019

Family

I thought my family found me,

the other day.

Nothing too dramatic,

just another friend request.

I have a thousand friends,

none who know me.

But this request.

This request had my bizarre surname:

“Son of the Butler” in old English.

“Son of a Bitch” it might as well mean.

Why after nine years,

a computer literate one looked me up?

Second cousin had an adult son die,

but they still have that other one.

No need for their dead cousin’s kid.

I used to think their anger at my dead mom

could only last so long.

I thought one Sunday

sitting in a righteous pew,

their pure minds would hit on me.

The request was a fake profile.

I deleted it almost in relief.

No need to suppress my politics,

or pretend to be normal.

Appalachian cousins don’t forget.

But maybe someday.

http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/2019/03/thursday-thursday-poets-rally-week-90.html

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The Holidays — January 7, 2019

The Holidays

I didn’t even know they did this anymore, Poetry Rallies. I haven’t wrote a poem in years. Maybe 2011? Be afraid. Be very afraid. In fact, if you think this is really bad, tell me, please!

Holidays

Back before everyone died;

Mama made turkey breast, boiled then baked.

Stuffing made of sausage and cornbread.

Cranberry sauce fresh from the can.

Discord from Grandma; Grandpa can’t see his plate.

New gifts and wrapping paper on the floor.

A feeling of home I don’t have anymore.

Now I go out to eat.

http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/2018/12/poets-rally-week-88-christmas.html?m=1

Fate — November 23, 2013

Fate

Added to my regrettable poetry, this humble offering. My mother would have been 71 today, I sometimes find myself thinking on her birthday, that it isn’t fair she’s dead. I know, just look in a cemetery at all the young folks who croaked, but one can’t help how you feel sometimes.

Whoever said life’s not fair is right.

Trying to stay above water,

not give up the fight.

But the water is murky,

Try as we might,

some of us slip out of sight.

Left to our fate,

no one sees our plight.

Poetry Potluck: Mother’s Day — May 2, 2012

Poetry Potluck: Mother’s Day

 

Dianthus caryophyllus - Garoafa
Dianthus caryophyllus – Garoafa (Photo credit: Nite Dan – Enjoypixel) Really. The smell reminded her of funeral arrangements.

Happy Mother’s Day! they say,

Hallmark, K-Mart, even Safeway.

My mom’s dead, I say,

Mom didn’t like carnations anyway.

 

Written for

 http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/2012/05/thursday-poets-rally-week-67-may-3-9.html

Thursday Poets Rally: Dear Adam and Eve — September 2, 2011

Thursday Poets Rally: Dear Adam and Eve

Adam and Eve
Image via Wikipedia Art Nouveau Carpet Matching Drapes

 

This poem was supposed to be for week 1 of the Poetry Picnic, but I didn’t get it done on time, so instead I humbly submit it to Thursday Poet’s Rally (two weeks later). Let me know what you think!

 

Dear Adam and Eve

 

Dear Adam and Eve,

 

Are you real or make-believe?

Did you exist in connubial bliss,

in a garden where only peace exists?

 

Or were you a seed implanted in

imperfect man’s head 

to explain all  the living and dead?

 

Myths spread to the ears of babes,

generation upon generation, 

a scribe writes and it passes to nations.

Did fiction become truth?

 

Was it 6 thousand -or 6 million-years ago,

you clothed yourselves in tree leaves

and from paradise told to go?

Why today your children suffer the same?

Our forebears’ sin forever our bane.

 

Or were you not Adam and Eve,

of dust and rib conceived?

Instead bang and poof, 

apes learn to live under a roof.

A new world constantly changing,

new insects for the naming.

Life made by God either way?

Only God and fossils can really say.

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Poetry Potluck: “Passionate Nights of Love” — August 16, 2011

Poetry Potluck: “Passionate Nights of Love”

Please visit http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com for better versed poets or to  join the meme.

Passionate Nights of Love (Ha Ha)

‘Passionate nights of love?’

Um, that’s what you want me to write?

Swine sprout wings and take flight.

 

Passionate nights of love?

Poison ivy becomes an aphrodisiac.

Maybe I’m just having a panic attack?

 

Passionate nights of love?

I hear rumors it exists.

In bed, in  shed, one gal with her cousin Ned.

 

Passionate nights of love?

I live with my mom, three cats, my doll collection.

And the consensus is I’m crazy.

 

Passionate nights of love?

What a joke!

I’ve never even been with a bloke.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

Victorian Valentine
Mama’s Old Home Style Stiffy Cure

Pic from indiana.edu

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Poetry Potluck -Nightguard — July 13, 2011

Poetry Potluck -Nightguard

An image from 1300s (A.D.) England depicting a...
Image via Wikipedia "See if you lose this, b!#*h"

Depending on who you ask, bruxism (that’s grinding your teeth) can be caused by stress, OCD, your jaws doing weird things, etc., so forth. This brings me to my first real post on my new blog, submitted to you by the muse of losing my nightguard -later found. I decided  to post this to Poetry Potluck too!

The Nightguard

 

Dammit, damn, and damnation!

Losing one’s nightguard is such an abomination!

 

Night Guard?

You mean that invisible rent-a-cop the complex hired?

 

No! Hell no!

That’s not what I’m saying.

Nightguard, oh wretched nightguard!

This, this, is for which I lament.

 

What’s it look like?

 

A damned dental apparatus!

Once a plastic clear,

now jaundiced yellow sunshine

from the years.

 

Sounds lovely.

 

It’s the one that cut into my gum,

but going to the dentist…

That’s no fun.

Snip snip the scissors.

Fixed it, it’s done!

 

Not fixed, not really.

 

Been a bit loose since that day,

asking myself, as one may,

if I swallow the damn thing

would I be able to cry,

‘Alas, alas, I choke! I die!’

 

 

It’s doubtful.

 

Could I have swallowed the nightguard

in fitful sleep’s embrace,

my teeth no longer braced?

Wailing! Gnashing my teeth,

The damn thing I must find I think,

lest my teeth continue to shrink,

ground down to my gums!

 

Good luck!

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My First Post is Up on My New Site! —
I Decided to Post This Comment Poem I Wrote: STD for the Heart — May 29, 2011

I Decided to Post This Comment Poem I Wrote: STD for the Heart

I don't remember what STD stands for.

Thanks Jammer for the idear. Now you can proudly say, “Lisa gave me an STD.”

 

STD for the Heart

Your love, my love, pains me to my heart’s core,
that I plead to you, Make this pain no more!

My heart is a flurry of tell-tale spots,
pulsating and throbbing with ecstatic fury.
My love drips down my heart’s swollen confines;
nefarious, necrotic, non-negotiable
dropping like tears.

Your love, my love , seduces and destroys,
no cure for it here anymore,
the penicillin is still at the store.

Miss Muffet: Modern Version Late Thursday’s Poets Rally — April 13, 2011

Miss Muffet: Modern Version Late Thursday’s Poets Rally

Clynotis severus, Female, Austin's Ferry, Tasm...
"Loving You is Easy 'Cause You're Beautiful" Image via Wikipedia

 

Big Ms. Lisa sat on her toilet

after eating pancakes of flour and milk,

When along came a creature just then to meet her

hanging from unseen silk.

She closed her blue orbs,  almost frightened away,

for vision she was partial to everyday.

 

“What the hell was that?” asked Ms. Lisa to her three sisters: Me, Myself, and I.

“Maybe it was an angry bee,” she said to Me, who did not disagree.

“Mighta been a ‘skeeter,” offered Myself, eyeing I.

I said, “It ain’t neither. Wonder if we have some pie?”

 

Ms. Lisa dared to  look herself and what did she see?

A spider in mid air, from the coils of Big Lisa’s big hair.

Ms. Lisa knew what had to be done,

and instead of run she grabbed a book

for the spider to be took.

 

Spider, however, had other desires,

book seat declined, he decided instead to go into its spine.

Ms. Lisa then divined that it takes much time

to free a spider when he otherwise is inclined.

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