His Dry Wit

elastic wit

pulled to the fringe

dry twisting elemental humor

labor of pleasure

doubles the fun

dissolves the gloom

cancels the harsh

sounds of too much serious

I was thinking of my hubby when I wrote this. His dry wit first drew me to him. Not everyone gets his humor, but no one makes me laugh like he does. When I need it most.

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The Excess

control the razor
slicing away the excess
desires of the flesh

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Sliver of Light

Wedge of hope penetrates the blanket of

  all consuming uncertainty

Shadows of doubt curl into the corners of the heart

  with freak show fingers of insecurity

Internal roller coaster plunges trust into expectation

  on a downhill ride through the dark unknown

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Design For the Future

The blueprint of the future

  is the pattern of the past

Demolish the weary and worn

  constant reminder

  of what once was

  vibrant and fresh

Transform the tattered and torn

  old promise into

  a new resolution

  clean and whole

Recognize the past as the

  original design for the future

(c) Denise Moncrief 2011

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Ultimate Act of Defiance

Immobile—my heart stops dead in its tracks. I know I play a dangerous game.

Close proximity to the object of my desire might prove the death of my long held dreams.

Retribution for my act of defiance

will surely come in the morning.

I sigh. One more Oreo won’t hurt, will it?

Maybe I won’t step on the blasted scales tomorrow.

Maybe I’ll let my diet take the day off.

An early Christmas present. Or birthday present.

Happy Birthday to me! Yum.

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Surrender

Try as I might, I couldn’t shake the bad feeling this morning. You know the one. That precursor of things that arrive in threes. Bad luck. Bad planning. Bad judgment. Passive isn’t my style. I am the wind and circumstance is a pile of leaves. I didn’t wait for life to come at me hard. Into the chill of the day I ventured, confident of overcoming any malady or misfortune that came my way.

My intuition proved correct. Now on the other side of the gang of three, I’m tempted to unfurl the flag of surrender. My body aches. My ego suffers. My soul longs for quiet. I could call it a day. Start fresh tomorrow. My warm bed beckons.

But before I can crawl into my cocoon, I have to do the dishes.


(c) Denise Moncrief 2011


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