Dead in the Shed and Other Poems

By Barbara Meyers (Guest Blogger)

One of the favorite questions in author interviews is, “Do you have a hobby?”

Usually I answer “no” because although I used to do things like quilt or put together jigsaw puzzles, nowadays I feel like I just don’t have time.

But there is something I do which, while not a hobby, is kind of fun for me. I write mostly ridiculous poems (for adults) using a Dr. Seuss-like rhyming scheme.

Usually, they are inspired by some real life incident, such as the following masterpiece:

DEAD IN THE SHED

There’s something dead in the shed

I’m glad it’s not in my bed

Or perched precariously atop my head

I wonder if it’s brown or red?

This thing that’s dead in the shed.

It could be a rat or maybe a mouse

I’m glad it didn’t fall down my blouse

Or find its way inside my house

I wonder if it could be a grouse?

This thing that’s dead in the shed.

I don’t want to look but it smells you see

I don’t want to know what it could possibly be

But it must have been cut off below its knees

From the poisons I planted under the eaves

This thing that’s dead in the shed.

All right okay I’ll go and look

In every cranny and every nook

I might have to look it up in a book

Mostly likely it’s nothing I’ll want to cook

This thing that’s dead in the shed.

Are you grossed out? Still reading? Yes, this idea came from an unpleasant true life incident. Which makes me wonder where Dr. Seuss got his story ideas. Did he perhaps have a particularly troublesome cat or some eggs that had gone bad?

The funny thing about writing these poems is that they seem to appear out of nowhere. The idea and the rhymes are in my head and I have to write them down fast or it will be all gone. It’s like chasing a cloud of vapor. If I don’t write fast enough that perfectly worded rhyme in my head just evaporates.

One guess as to where the idea for this one came from. I wrote it in my hotel room at 4 a.m. while attending a writer’s conference five years ago.

The Middle Ages

My boobs are sagging.

My tummy’s gone soft.

I need a tuck and a lift

To hold my breasts aloft.

My rear end I’ve noticed it’s a bit saggy.

The flesh under my eyes is tired and baggy.

My eye sight all of a sudden is shot.

Many pairs of “cheaters” I have bought.

There’s an awful lot of gray in my hair.

Though I count my blessings, at least it’s still there.

I no longer dye it, really what’s the point?

Men don’t even notice when I walk in a joint.

I spend lots of time in the bathroom that’s true.

If you’re under fifty trust me, you haven’t a clue.

What’s in store for you just wait and see.

One of these days you’ll end up like me.

Anything spicy will give you heartburn.

A cup of coffee can make your insides churn.

Though being irregular is now the norm,

Passing gas in public is really poor form.

A good night’s sleep is a thing of the past.

Just before the alarm I drop off at last.

My toes are like ice, I have flashes of heat.

My joints are stiff, the knees often creak.

My upper arms have lost their former glory.

Their jiggliness is quite a sad story.

My teeth are loose, my breath’s often bad.

My complexion also looks somewhat sad.

I’ve got moles and freckles and odd spots of red.

On my forehead in the morning when I get out of bed.

The creams and potions aren’t much help.

When I look in the mirror I nearly yelp.

My skin all over is flaky and dry.

Though cosmetics companies they do try.

They can’t reverse the toll time took.

It’s not their fault, the way I look.

I raised my kids; I’ve been around a long time.

When I see my reflection I often find

The lines on my face and the crow’s feet galore

Say I smiled a lot and laughed even more.

Who’s that I wonder, this fifty-something now?

What happened to me? I’m a chubby cow!

I try to ignore it and get on with my life.

And hope my man won’t want a new wife.

Youth for wisdom’s a fair trade-off I guess.

Though I don’t always like it I must confess.

Of my twenty-year-old body I was quite fond.

But I’m glad I’m no longer just another dumb blond.

Like most hobbies, writing poetry like this will never be a money-making endeavor. But it’s fun and it’s a nice break from writing novel-length fiction. Although to be honest, sometimes writing romance novels feels like a hobby, too, just because I enjoy it so much. And I love those happy endings. Here’s a peek at my latest release WHAT A RICH WOMAN WANTS.

Right about the time Lesley Robinson’s father’s stroke left her in charge of his Fortune 500 company, she adopted her housekeeper’s sick baby and divorced her philandering husband.

She’s survived the past six years by building an impenetrable wall around her emotions. But when a hunk of a sheriff’s deputy turns up at her office to apply for a grant from the company’s foundation, her distrust of men and relationships takes a direct hit.

Niko Morales clawed his way out of gang life to build a new one grounded in law enforcement and a passion to help disadvantaged youth. So, Lesley needs a companion for an upcoming social occasion? He’s no gigolo, but for his community center, and maybe for her, he’ll wear the monkey suit.

Without any apparent effort at all, Niko sneaks under Lesley’s cool façade, shaking up everything she believed about herself. But when their relationship is threatened by the sins of others, they’ll both have to step up—and out of their comfort zones. Or they’ll lose the one thing they want most: each other.

Excerpt

Lesley drove into the parking lot in a white Lexus, parking decisively in the first open space she saw. She left the vehicle without checking her makeup in the rearview mirror or fussing with her hair. Niko had no idea why not doing those things should please him. Maybe it was her no-nonsense attitude. Or maybe she knew she was stunning and didn’t need to reassure herself every five minutes.

She wore white slacks and a sleeveless red turtleneck. Her hair wasn’t as tightly coiled as it had been the first time they’d met, but was clipped up and back, leaving that sweep of bang to fall across one side. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head as she approached.

He liked the way she looked. Like cool vanilla ice cream with a sweet cherry on top. Too bad she seemed insistent on keeping herself in the back of the freezer. Everything about her said, “Look, but don’t you dare touch.” Idly Niko wondered what it would take to thaw her, even while he told himself there was no point in trying. His instinct told him she’d be worth the effort.

She gave him a small, polite smile. “Deputy Morales.”

“Miss Robinson.” He mimicked her tone and smile.

She laughed. She had a nice laugh. Throaty and genuine. “All right, you win, Niko. You can call me Lesley if you’d like.”

He grinned. “I’d like. Shall we?” He held the door for her.

No sooner had they stepped inside than a short, round, dark-haired woman bustled forward. “Ah, Niko, my bambino. Where have you been? I no see you for a week.” She pulled Niko into her embrace, rising on tiptoe to kiss him on both cheeks.

“It’s good to see you, too, Alicia,” he told her when she stepped back. “This is my friend,

Lesley. Lesley, this Alicia Sanchez. She and her husban Estaban are the owners.” “Nice to meet you,” Lesley said.

“Come, come. I have table for you outside, yes?”

“Is that okay?” Niko asked Lesley.

“Sure.”

Within minutes they were seated at one of the outside tables. A basket of warm tortilla chips and homemade salsa arrived along with cold bottles of Dos Equis. Niko tapped the neck of his beer bottle against Lesley’s. “To beneficial partnerships.”

She raised an eyebrow and took a drink straight from the bottle.

“I gotta say I didn’t figure you for a beer drinker,” said Niko. “The sangria’s pretty good here. They’re also known for their margaritas.”

“Beer with tortilla chips and salsa is one of life’s true pleasures,” Lesley informed him. She loaded a chip and munched.

“Which you don’t allow yourself to indulge in very often.” The restaurant wasn’t too crowded. Niko staved off starvation by eating his own share of chips and salsa.

Lesley took a careful sip of beer. “Why do you say that?” As if to prove him wrong, she loaded another chip with salsa and popped it in her mouth.

“I’m guessing you’re expected to be more of a champagne and foie gras kind of girl.”

He’d surprised her; he could tell by the flare in her eyes, the sharpness of her gaze, the few seconds of hesitation before she answered. “Yes, well, we all have to deal with expectations. The ones we have of ourselves and the ones others place upon us.”

“For example, you didn’t expect a guy like me to know what foie gras was, let alone be able to pronounce it correctly.”

She gave him another of those small smiles acknowledging that he’d caught her. “I have a feeling, Niko, that there’s a lot about you that might surprise me.”

He tapped the neck of his beer bottle against hers again. “Here’s to a future filled with pleasant surprises.”

****

I will give away a copy of WHAT A RICH WOMAN WANTS or one copy of any of my other books to one lucky commenter on this blog. Be sure to include your email address so I can find  you!

About the Author

When not writing fiction, Dr. Seuss-like poetry or song lyrics, I disguise myself behind a green apron and supply caffeine-laced substances to addicted consumers for a world-wide coffee company.

Check out my Braddock Brotherhood connected series of funny, spicy, sexy contemporary romances published by Samhain Publishing.

Under the pen name, AJ Tillock, I venture into off-the-wall comedic fantasy with The Forbidden Bean, the first in the GRINDING REALITY series.

I am still married to my first husband, have two fantastic children and one almost perfect dog. I’m originally from Southwest Missouri, and now reside in Central Florida.

Buy links for WHAT A RICH WOMAN WANTS:

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/what-a-rich-woman-wants-barbara-meyers/1121104088?ean=9781619228764

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/What-Woman-Wants-Braddock-Brotherhood-ebook/dp/B00SKPXWZM/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1424189974&sr=1-3&keywords=barbara+meyers

Samhain: https://www.samhainpublishing.com/book/5432/what-a-rich-woman-wants

Contact me at barb [at] barbmeyers [dot] com

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