Tag Archives: Rhymes

Creative Juice #234

Creative Juice #234

Lots of artsy stuff.

Two Poems


First a serious one, then a silly one.casket-3986679_640-e1551385652318.png


The Woman in the Coffin

“Doesn’t she look good?
She looks good, doesn’t she?”
I can’t answer, because I don’t agree.
The woman in the coffin is not the one I knew.

He knew her so much better than me—
Married to her for fifty-two years.
Maybe this is how she looked as she slept,
Face unlined, no worries,
And she slept much the last few months.

But when I look at this woman in the coffin,
I don’t recognize her.
Something is missing.
Her essence is gone, her spirit, her personality.
This body is just an empty shell;
Nobody’s home.

She’s moved on.
She’s with Jesus now.
No more fatigue;
No more illness;
Only joy.

A Poet’s LamentPen and pencil bokeh

I’d like my poems to rhyme
But I don’t have the time
To play with words like mockingbirds
Until I make them chime.

My poems leave me wishing
That I’d, instead, gone fishing.
My meter limps like high-heeled chimps.
I make up words, like “blishing.”

I wish I had a fairy
Or a rhyming dictionary.
My writing sounds like barking hounds
Instead of something merry.

I truly do aspire
To be what I admire:
A poet who achieves the coup
Without the rhymes all haywire.

poems © ARHuelsenbeck

Time to Rhyme

Time to Rhyme


I don’t often write verse that rhymes. Free verse comes so much easier to me. But I purposely have been trying to rhyme more. Here are a couple of rhyming poems that I’ve written recently:


I Can’t Thinkfrazzled worker

I’m so exhausted I can’t even think.
Too much to do—I need a drink!
No alcohol, so coffee will do.
A brew instead of a brewski or two.

Too many deadlines, too much mess,
Too much to practice, can’t reach success,
Too many promises, too much work,
Firm obligations I’m forced to shirk.

Depleted, consumed, fatigued and drained,
I stagger and trip; my ankle’s sprained.
Pooped and bushed, weary and spent,
My tools won’t work; my broom is bent.

Hours to go till I’ve done what I must,
This horrible day is a total bust—
I’ll be too late to meet my friend.
Will this busy day never end?

Hungerscale i-yunmai-617618-unsplash

The rule is “Nothing after eight.”
This rule is one I’ve come to hate,
For the ev’ning’s when I’m hungry,
Hungry as a junk-food junkie.

So snacking is off the table.
I starve as long as I’m able.
I dream of buttery popcorn
And other versions of food porn.

While reading or watching TV
And drinking my diet iced tea,
I’m craving some cookies or cake;
But instead, my sweets I’ll forsake.

And here is one in free verse. My folk dance group meets on Tuesday nights for three hours. Toward the end of the evening, some of the people get tired and want to go home. I’m usually the person pleading to go on until our time is up.

One More Dance?IMG_1267

Please, let’s not leave yet!
Let’s do another—
Maybe one from Romania,
Bulgaria, Albania.
Maybe one with grapevines
Or hassapikos.

Just one more—
One with leaps and turns
Or a quiet one that walks and sways.
One to an acapella choir of women’s voices
–or men’s.
Please, just one more dance
Or two.


All these poems are for a chapbook contest I’m entering.

Poems © ARHuelsenbeck.

Creative Juice #88

Creative Juice #88

May these offerings be like a spring breeze to your spirit: