For I Will Consider My Boobs
(inspired by Christopher Smart: For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry)

For they are ginormous compared to hers
For they are loved by breast connoisseurs
For they are filled with milk and honey
For they’re worn best on girls named Bunny
For they are the perfect hiding place
For mashed together, the spill over lace
For they are the sweetest bargaining chip
For they make him seek a pleasure trip
For when they’re bared they feel most free
For they are his ignition key
For they are a simple float-device
For they are doubled to be extra nice
For they are better than teat for tat
For they are exempt from being fat
For they are content without a tan
For they have garnered the worship of man
For they are seen but never heard
For they don’t won’t judge what has occurred
For they look grand inside a cup
For they aren’t told to button up
For they like to come out and have some fun
For they say happiness, is a warm gun.

- Carol Lynn Grellas

(featured in the poetry forum 06.18.09)

Dormant Forces

She falters on a regular basis
wishing to be more than she is,
a light within suggests her song
has yet to be sung.

She yearns to hear the Steinway
overlooked in an empty sunlit room
modestly placed with the celluloids

strewn about its cherry wood lid.
She dreams of lounging
on the needlepoint bench,

the player turning paper scrolls,
melodies playing to invisible
saints who grace the room.

She ponders the thought of
opening the lid, striking the keys,
and releasing the music
in both of them.

- Carol Lynn Grellas

(added 06.18.09)

One Small Thing

When I awoke this morning,
my heart was hanging from the ceiling
suspended from a cord, a useless container
twisting in the dead air.
It seemed a natural place as it hovered
over me. A dangling old piñata,
all the candy ransacked by every greedy beggar
in need of love. I wondered how it managed
for so long to stay intact.
So many times it almost stopped
from arrows finding the center far to0 easily.
Then I looked around the room
for that old dog named, Poncho.
He was the first offender. The dog that dodged
cars on the streets of Novato.
He’s six feet under with Aunt Susan now.
She always loved him so. And as I thought of her
the heart swung a little more, in a pendulum
kind of motion, and soon every miserable thing
that ever happened sunk it’s way back
in my mind. And that hanging heart gloated
as it built momentum, in faster swings,
centrifugal circles from the axis in the ceiling
until I was sure the cord would simply break,
from all the force, leaving me without a heart at all,
but then I looked over, and saw you laying there
perfectly content in the midst of my amputated dilemma
and decided it was time I took something back.
So I’m very sorry, but I’ve decided to borrow yours.
You’ll have to do the work for both of us now.

- Carol Lynn Grellas

(featured in the poetry forum 07.18.08)