Five Poems by Ken Gosse

 

That Touch of Mint, with Cary Grant and Doris Day (100 Words)

 

They walked into a rustic bar

to drop their guard that night,

but as they wished upon a star

she startled with a fright.

 

She saw a moth fly toward the light

and said she had a fear

of bugs which fly around at night

then land a bit too near.

 

They ordered drinks; a brew for him,

for her, a sweet delight.

His dark foam slowly topped the brim;

her scent of mint was bright.

 

A sudden scream would pierce the night,

“A bug is in my beer!”

He took a sip, laughed in delight,

“Your Grasshopper, my dear.” 

 

Neighbors In Your Lessonhood (100 Words)

 

She garnered knowledge back in college

of some things you can’t acknowledge

to your fathers, sisters, brothers—

lessons that aren’t taught by mothers.

 

More than she had learned before

from older boys who knew the score,

she learned to snare from girls who’d dare

to share their secrets of mancare.

 

She’d give advice about the spice

of life which sometimes causes strife,

but few details on what prevails

to sweeten up her fairy tales.

 

Those secrets known to her alone

were not for sharing, but to own,

yet not a few of her friends knew

those mysteries—and others, too. 

 

Hoopless (100 Words)

 

He fought to rebound once again,

contemptuous of other men,

and drove full speed across the court

in hopes of one more last resort

with full intent to penetrate

the strong defense she’d generate.

 

All focus had been placed on him

as he approached the sacred rim—

then slapped away just as his finger

made a gesture meant to linger.

 

Shouting that he’s on the prowl,

both technical and flagrant foul

were called for being out-of-bounds,

providing her with ample grounds

to banish him, ignore his plea

henceforth unto eternity.

 

Instead of scoring as he planned,

he was permanently banned. 

 

Time Washes On (100 Words)

 

“Right now” becomes “then” by the end of each moment;

as time marches on in the foam it will foment

new waves on the shore, each one like that before

although never the same and soon gone evermore,

moving each grain of time, leaving most of them there

for the next wave to hit as it takes its fair share,

for an instant exchanging while it’s rearranging

our here and our now which are constantly changing.

 

The past stays behind and the future’s ahead,

but when we arrive, it becomes now instead

while pondering whether it left hope or dread. 

 

Scoping You Inside-Out (100-Word Sonnet)

 

The snake’s main task along its bending route;

discover what’s askew at every spot.

Not null but void, you now feel inside out

because of time deployed upon the pot.

 

Enabled, as you were, by fluid meds

and potions worse than Shakespeare’s witches’ brews

whose toils and troubles every user dreads,

you offer up the very best of views.

 

Meanwhile, avoiding fiber and NSAIDs,

penultimately drinking every meal,

enduring drought since neither drink nor breads

may pass through lips now parched by your ordeal.

 

Although I’d sensed discomfort long ago,

this time, they knocked me out—I missed the show.

Ken Gosse usually writes short, rhymed verse using whimsy and humor in traditional meters. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, he has also been published by Pure Slush, Home Planet News Online, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, and others. Raised in the Chicago, Illinois, suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, for over twenty years, usually with rescue dogs and cats underfoot.