A Poet's Garage Sale (in couplets)

There’s quite a sale in my garage,
A poet’s plethoran montage
Of metaphors and similes
And verses guaranteed to please.

A nest of nouns, a vat of verbs;
Some quotes quite perfect for your blurbs.
A carton filled with stale clichés,
Which budding writers can rephrase.

I’ve baskets filled with parts of speech
Left from the days I used to teach.
So many sentences to choose,
Ambitious wordsmiths cannot lose.

So come on down – check out my stuff;
Describing it’s not good enough.
A poet’s sale is most inviting –
It may spark a love of writing!

*Note: This poem is a reworking of 
yesterday's poem into a couplet format.

A Poet's Garage Sale

I’m having a garage sale
Though I don’t have a garage.
Come check out all my offerings –
You’ll see a strange montage.

I have similes and metaphors
So old that they’re clichés.
There are sentences and verses
Budding writers can rephrase.

From a stack of nouns quite towering
Are so many you can choose;
Mix and match with all my adjectives –
You simply cannot lose.

There’s a vat of verbs just waiting,
Some with adverbs still attached;
And a box of prepositions,
With its lock no longer latched.

There might be a spare conjunction
Hiding underneath the rhymes;
As for interjections – Ha!
They’re rare as Mercury-head dimes.

Yet if you pay me a visit,
You might find the words you need;
I’ve been cleaning up my clutter
And there’s good stuff, guaranteed.

So come pick through my possessions
‘Cause I’m lightening my load.
Then feel free to write a sonnet
Or a limerick or ode.

For garage sales held by poets
Are, to me, the most inviting,
Since your purchases may point you
To the pathway paved with writing.

Life is a Dance

Sometimes life is such a bore we run on automatic;
Then it’s time to tango for a dash of the dramatic.
Or when things are dull and only gusto will suffice,
We cha-cha or calypso to inject a dose of spice.

We hustle off to work each morning, foxtrot through the day
And hope that time’s electric slide just melts the hours away.
At clock-out time we say goodbye and jitterbug on out;
We hokey-pokey home because that’s what it’s all about.

Some easy days we waltz on by; we’re caught up in the swing
And lindy-hop or tap our way through all that life can bring.
We may go round in circles or, to deal with our despair,
Find someone we can partner with and do-so-do with flair.

For life is like a dance and we are held within its sway;
We dip and twirl and fake the steps, from polka to ballet.
The music of the atmosphere imbues us with its beat
And if we choose to hear it, we just follow with our feet.

Frame of Reference

My reality might be
The opposite of yours.
You may think the words I write
Are merely metaphors.

Some may be, I’ll give you that,
But mostly they’re the truth,
A frame of reference I’ve been in
From early days of youth.

Of course, that frame’s expanded
As experience has grown.
We each exist within a world
We cling to as our own.

But oftentimes I get a jolt
That knocks me like a blow.
What’s obvious to me
Is something others may not know.

Within my frame of reference
I describe the things I’ve seen.
I’m shocked when those beyond that frame
Do not know what I mean.

Serena!

Her opponents on the court
Must battle inner quaking
In anticipation of the shots
That she will soon be making.

Watching her attack the ball
Is so intimidating,
I would hate to be the one
Across the net, just waiting.

As a fan, I watch in awe –
Her power, strength and muscle,
Plus the fleetness of her feet
Add up to quite a hustle.

Toss determination in –
She’ll go that extra mile –
And you’ve got Serena:
She’s a powerhouse with style.

I’m watching her compete right now,
In neon pink and yellow,
And every aspect of her game
Is anything but mellow.

The match is done – Serena’s won,
An outcome not surprising;
As for her future challengers,
I’ll soon be sympathizing.

Cricket Conversations

Ch-ch. Ch-ch. 
These crickets drive me crazy.
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
They keep me up all night.
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
My neighbor says they're peepers*
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
But I don't think he's right.

Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
I'm tossing and I'm turning.
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
I haven't slept a wink.
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
Invading all my brain cells,
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
They will not let me think.

Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
It's peaceful in the country
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
If crickets don't converse.
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
The city has its sirens
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
But cricket chirps are worse.

Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
I'm waiting for the winter
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
And man, the time does creep!
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
When crickets take vacation
Ch-ch. Ch-ch.
So I can get some sleep!

*tiny frogs

One Small Step

We all looked up and held our breaths -
No person was immune -
That day in 1969
When Armstrong walked the moon.

It seemed just like a fairy tale -
Could such a thing be real?
But yes, it was and "one small step"
Became a great big deal.

Those years were filled with promise
And that moon walk did embrace
The love affair, so rife with hope,
We had with outer space.

But times have changed; we've lost the thrills
That NASA did provide
And now to add the final blow,
We learn Neil Armstrong's died.

A special place within our hearts
For Neil we'll always keep;
All mankind owes a debt to him
Thanks to that "giant leap."

As I gazed at the moon last night,
In glorious display,
I thought of Armstrong's footprints,
Long ago and far away.