My Life as Pie

My earliest memory is of baked apple pie
from the golden arches. (Sorry.)

Then there was the childhood diversion
to chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream.

Then my taste buds developed
and I was strawberry rhubarb pie.

I was Boston Creme Pie for a bit,
because of my first girlfriend.

But she broke my heart,
and now it tastes bitter to me.

And then I figured out
I didn’t need to be different.

I could always be strawberry rhubarb,
because that’s who I really am.

And if you don’t like me, that’s okay;
there’s plenty of other flavors out there.

And then the more I thought about it,
I realized life is sweet – and tart.

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the my life as a pie prompt at We Write Poems.

possible

possible-
able to be done,
but should we?

possible,
but too expensive-
it’s not done.

possible-
for the good of all,
why not done?

/ / /

These 3/5/3 senryu were written in response to the possible prompt at Haiku Heights.

Open Season

I think it’s time we declared Open Season.
Aren’t you tired of the closures?

We’re closing schools, denying education.
People are still being laid off.

Why? Because we got greedy, and
we elected the representatives we deserve.

It’s time to open some windows,
let in some more light, and see.

I’m tired of the talk, the rhetoric
and the platitudes, the hypocrisy.

Or, if we must talk, instead of act,
then let it be frank and candid.

Let’s admit we don’t always know
what we’re doing. Honest talk.

Rather than the I know exactly
what I’m doing talk, and when

it all goes downhill, I was only doing
what I was told talk. Blame talk.

I’m tired of the closed talk, the exclusive
talk, the you don’t belong here talk.

Closed talk from closed minds,
that doesn’t say anything.

Oh, yes, I’m even more sure now
that we need to declare Open Season.

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the season prompt at Poetic Asides.