Wordle #290

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

Join in here: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2022/10/03/wordle-290/
autumn season second spring when every leaf flower maple fall crisp apple/s

Welcome Autumn

Autumn is a time to play
in leaves so crisp and cool
spring is off in the distance
when kids do work in school
The first flower to show its bud
might be the lovely mum
The second gift from mother earth
are apples, so yum yum
Maple trees have given us
its sweet and sticky sap
A season for every family
and sit in pappa’s lap
Sun is setting early now
and kids get tucked in tight
For many of the holidays
during fall occur at night.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Thinking of Me: Compilation 08/01/2022

I remember the day that I made my pledge
with a smile on my face, all my words had an edge
No major life changes, abundant success
No longer a kid, I greedily confess
For they have a slight trace of disturbed verity
A high on their horse most boisterously
But for me in my world a forest full of delight
only minor complications, no hate and no spite
My oration half over, like caramel in milk
Sinking and swirling cream covered silk
A sweet wintergreen with a flat outer shell
All things I think of, but I never tell
Instead I say things that sound masterly
My confidence rippled like a stone thrown to sea. 

©2022 CBialczak Poetry







The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #548

Brenda Warren is our hostess for the Sunday Whirl. You can join in here

Our words are
sliver, breath, sent, plans, hours, minutes, chime, drive, write, light, crime, match


I hold my breath
As I write this song
Minutes pass
It’s not that long

I drive through cities
Where crime does live
Wondering who
The blame I give

A sliver moon
Is in the sky
The hours tick
Time passing by

I light a match
To check my plan
Who sent me here?
Who is that man?

The clock will chime
The night goes on
I must go home
The job is done

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #547


The Strong, Brave Cow

Like lines in the air
The cow jumped over the moon
With hooves like fingertips
Never landing too soon
He jumped through the void
Making patterns in air
Unconsciously knowing
A landing place with be there
A remote piece of space
A star up in the sky
Tracing the pattern
Of this cow, watch him fly
Then down to his spot
He safely will drop
‘Cause no one cooks up a place
Where that strong cow can’t stop.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Wordle #275

Yves is the host of this weeks wordle. Check it out here

word-art-55.png (757×660)
Valentine’s Day


With nylon stockings upon slender legs

She fumbled for keys in her clutch

She was no Playboy on this Valentine’s Day

Even if she’s treated as such.

The helium globes rose high above her

Suspended by only a string

A thin and crinkled cinched up knot

But a thorn would soon pop that thing

And then her wrist no longer tied

A woebegone gift lost to the sky

A pawn he played in his cold game

A stalemate was this guy

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Wordle #273

word-art-53.png (557×896)


Today we have a double Wordle. Check this out at Mindlovemiserysmenagerie

The Fight

I balled up my fists, I was ready to fight
following him there through the dead of the night
I felt like a guest in a house made of cards
a man out for hire with my own body guard
He was older than me ’bout least year or two
he wore these old mittens that hid a tattoo
He smoked unfiltered camels lit with a match
a snowman would melt if the wind were to snatch
the match as it blew aglow burned with the fire
the glow in the air was something I’d admire
now crunching along on this harden black dirt
I jumped at a new sound as if I’d been hurt
I lifted my head, watched the man in my path
black coal colored eyes showing deep-seeded wrath
boots I was wearing an impediment now
I was drenched in sweat, from my feet to my brow
I could smell the coffee escape from my pours
if you’d been there as well it could’ve been yours
instead of running I decided to sit
on a place that seemed dry, my senses a-lit
He had pulled on a cap, twas handmade of wool
like a matador wears a cape for a bull
He suddenly smiled as he held out his hand
he helped me adjust and move up to a stand
We shook each hand as if we’d known we’d were friends
and that is how this little story now ends.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle 530

At the edge of the world
where a hive roars with life
the chatter is humming
the work seems like strife

the stars burn so brightly
a feline mews low
a candle flicks warmly
with a hazy, soft glow

It’s a sign of the times
a role destined to play
a curse of the future
where a secret might lay

And so it is here now
that we wander alone
Do we face what’s there waiting?
Should we fear the unknown? 

©2021 CBialczak Poetry

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #526

Like a secret hid behind my eyes
I lie alone and wonder
How years go by without a clue
Like a blink or like a shudder

But glass holds in the things we feel
Words sit below the surface
We paint a scene of all our years
A meeting of minds amorphous

They sample foods and all fine wines
Those palatial and opulent
They lightly tap on clean taste buds
Bringing thoughts which are flamboyant

And then I go back to my shell
Where safety lies in wait
And let the time past fast and slow
Getting ready for my fate.

©2021 CBialczak Poetry

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #523

Brenda Warren is our host for the Sunday Whirl. You can join in here

Finding Gold

Going to the beaches
With murder on my mind
A mission that I need to keep
I need to watch the time

The boat comes by and sees me
Its speedy and its sleek
Taking corners tightly
Never seeming weak

Taking up my weapon
No space for a mistake
In the air I feel a presence
Nothing found for heaven’s sake

Drawing up my  dragger
No fear left in my gut
Looking for the piece of gold
Well hidden and well put. 

©2021 CBialczak Poetry

The Sunday Whirl: 10/03/2021

The Concert

Feeling quite frozen and nearly lost in this space

reluctantly leaving the comforts of a known place

Peering around for solace away from the crowd

Pulling his hat down since the venue was loud

He thought it quite lame to sit here and wallow

cramming down popcorn barely able to swallow

He pulls out his ticket to check for the date

Thinking maybe the show was just running quite late

He used to be patient and quiet and kind

Never the type to avenge a brilliant mind

But sitting for this long amongst noises and such

Made him remember why he disliked people so much

So he gets out his walking stick, set by his seat

Asking the near neighbors to tuck in their feet

Moves right along the row reserved just for him

Deciding a concert was a foolhardy whim.

©2021 CBialczak Poetry

To join in the Sunday whirl visit the site here