Thursday, October 10, 2013

New Blog Site

You can find new blog posts at:

www.cueballmysteries.com

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Poetry in Odd Places

What in tarnation!
A second poem about castration?
You might be thinking, “Oh, brother
How, oh how, could there possibly be another?

The poem from April first had a different theme
A medieval love affair was its basic scheme
But this here poem’s inspired by “My Cat From Hell
A TV show I think is really swell

Jackson Galaxy is a cat behaviorist
On neutering your pets he strongly does insist
In last night’s show two episodes explored
This neutering theme, not to be ignored

And the cats were better off, trust Jackson on this
The critters went from misery to happiness and bliss
So you see? Poetry can be found in castration
And aren’t we all glad I’m done with this creation?

Check our updated website at:  www.cueballmysteries.com

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Playing With Poison Goes Live, Baby!

Playing With Poison is now available on Amazon.


Hail, hail
My book is for sale!

Seven days out
And there's no need to pout

Eleven I've sold
A start so bold


Who knows what untold
Success will unfold?

So be the first on your block
To put one in stock

Your Kindle is pining
To deliver this shining

Literary tome
Into your home!

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Not for the Faint of Heart

A poem about the weekend chores
I’m warning you ahead
This little ditty details
Cleaning out the shed

Why did we save this thing?
What use can it possibly serve?
I’m going to throw it out now
I’m getting up the nerve

Hubby holds up a trowel
Encrusted in who-knows-what
For fear of finding out
I keep my eyes most tightly shut

Two sets of old golf clubs
But honey, I’m confused
Why have we saved those for decades
When they’re never even been used?

And that thinga-ma-jig over there?
Someone gave us at our wedding
I don’t mean to alarm you
But I do believe it’s shedding

Why did I buy this junk?
A full gallon of purple paint
I’m trying to recall the project
But sorry, I really cain’t

That table with a broken leg
The repair was supposed to be easy
But since we’ve misplaced our hammer
The thought of fixing it makes me queasy

Several rolled up rugs
The cat long ago destroyed
Why didn’t we dump these sooner?
Okay, so I’m getting annoyed

But look! We’ve reached our bicycles
Which means we’re almost done
And now with a clear path to the doorway
They might actually see the sun.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Julia Child I Ain't



Years of trying but it never took
The fact remains I hate to cook

Given my druthers on what I prefer
To others my stove, I would gladly defer

Not that I can't cook and bake
I make a to-die-for chocolate cake

Hubby likes that cooking stuff
Elaborate prep? He can't get enough

Peaches for cobbler he is blanching today
and he's roasting some garlic in a dish made of clay

Some sort of pasta sauce he is apt to prepare
With graters and blenders he has quite a flare

So to his heart's delight my hubby cooks
Meanwhile me? I'll be writing my books

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Parallel Parking Blues

Some basic skills I do not got
At some simple stuff I really rot

Parallel parking's one of those
This is how it always goes

I find a spot that's larger than life
And gear up for inordinate stress and strife

Toward the curb I steer the car
But from the curb I am far, far, far, far

I climb back in and steer some more
Closer I must be, I'm fairly sure

Oops, I hit it, bumpity bump
And feeling like a stupid chump

I check around hoping no one's looking
And climb back out to see what's cooking

On the sidewalk my back tire sits
I conclude yet again that parking's the pits

If the tire's not flat I give up and drive away
And say to myself that at home I should stay

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Aplomb-less

I handle life's challenges with zero aplomb
To every little issue I quickly succumb
And start screaming bad words at the top of my lungs

The coffee's too weak, and the cereal is soggy
I need gas in the car and the weather's turned foggy
And I haven't thought of a poem for my stupid weekly bloggy

The battery's gone dead on the kitchen clock
And I can't find the match to my most favorite sock
And my brilliant idea the boss just summarily blocked

These types of traumas put me over the top
And make my blood pressure do the opposite of drop
Even when I take a deep breath and tell myself to stop

I do yoga and long walks for some zen-ish insight
To which my foul moods say "Get serious. Yeah, right!
Now you're all sweaty and your hair looks a fright."

Yes, other people seem way more well-adjusted
In patience and sanity they seem to be encrusted
I wonder, can these people really be trusted?