April 15, 2012 14 comments

This poem is in response to The Mag’s prompt 113 which is the Chagall image above



Said the painter to the poet

“There’s something to be said

For all the palette colors

But you can’t go wrong with red”


Said the poet to the painter

“Your advice is very sage

I find it is the humble words

That better suit the page”



April 9, 2012 13 comments

This post is linked to The Mag prompt 112 which is the image above.



Existential image

Floating eggshell girl

Drifting ‘cross the desert

Clouds a gothic whirl


Meaning is elusive

Imagery’s obscure

Artist has a message

What, I can’t be sure

I’m Thinking of Starting a Diet

April 6, 2012 3 comments

I’m thinking of starting a diet

In fact I might start it today

The goal of my diet is simple

To make fifty pounds go away


My shirt creeps up over my belly

My pants are two inches too tight

I’m a pastry away from exploding

Good gosh, I’m a horrible sight


I can’t see my toes when I’m standing

My belt buckle points at the floor

I suck in my gut and turn sideways

To maneuver my butt through a door


Oh, once I was young and athletic

And once I was nimble and lean

But I said “super size it” too often

I think y’all know what I mean


They say diet is all about willpower

And not for the lazy or meek

I’m thinking of starting a diet

Well, maybe I’ll start it next week.

Linked to The Purple Tree House and Poets United


April 4, 2012 2 comments

If you have visited before…welcome back. If this is your first visit click on “MY TOP TEN” to get a representative sample of the blog. I hope you like what you see. Vb

P.S. :  If you are really feeling charitable, checkout “Versebender” in the Amazon Kindle Store

The Ballad of Bloodsucker Bill

October 31, 2011 14 comments

For Halloween…..




In a castle atop

Of a far away hill

Rests a vampire

Name of Bloodsucker Bill


He sleeps with the lid

Of his coffin sealed tight

To ward off the rays

Of the sun’s deadly light


But as shadows of night

To his sepulcher spill

They awaken dark cravings

In Bloodsucker Bill


He throws on his cloak

And ties his cravat

And brushes the lint

From his satin top hat


Then it’s into the streets

In search of a thrill

The night time is show time

For Bloodsucker Bill


He preys only on ladies

The men leave him cold

His approach is a mixture

Of subtle and bold


He’s quite a seducer

They bend to his will

Resistance is futile

With Bloodsucker Bill


He plies them with dinner

And later a show

He flatters them ‘til

Their cheeks are aglow


Its wine ‘em and dine ‘em

Then in for the kill

That’s standard procedure

For Bloodsucker Bill


He’s charming, he’s sexy

He kindles desire

The touch of his lips

Spark a passionate fire


“When you live twenty lifetimes

You acquire some skill”

Says that old bodice-ripper

Named Bloodsucker Bill


So caution fair ladies

Who tryst in the night

Beware a cloaked stranger

Who seems to delight


He’ll first take his pleasure

Then drink up his fill

And you’ll join the victims

Of Bloodsucker Bill




Linked to Gooseberry Garden

The Wart On Jenny’s Nose

June 7, 2011 38 comments


The female form is glorified in written word and song

From gently curving bosoms to legs so lithe and long

Yet, of all the charms appealing from tresses down to toes

There’s none that strike my fancy like the wart on Jenny’s nose


Resting on the very tip for all the world to see

It runs from brown to purple and is textured like a pea

Perched upon the precipice as if about to fall

It makes her look quite like a seal who’s balancing a ball


She doesn’t try to hide it and she won’t have it removed

She says it makes her special and I think her point’s been proved

It whispers not of vanity, but screams of depth within

Perfection’s not a virtue, nor is a flaw a sin


If beauty really rests within each beholder’s eye

Then we needn’t all appear the same and shouldn’t even try

True beauty’s point and counterpoint…thorns enhance the rose

And nothing’s as beguiling as the wart on Jenny’s nose


This poem is linked to One Stop Poetry.


May 24, 2011 28 comments

This poem is linked to One Stop Poetry.



I took an arrow in the heart

From Cupid’s loving bow

Why the little bare-bummed archer

Picked on me I’ll never know

With his cherub face and curly locks

And dainty little wings

You’d never guess the awful mess

His little missile brings

Before he shot, I had only me,

And wanted nothing more

Now I’ve got a wife, six drooling kids,

And creditors galore

Oh God in heaven grant me this:

I only wish I might

Encounter that sweet faerie

On some dark and moonless night

I’d snatch the arrows from his back

‘Ere more harm came to pass

Then throttle him around the neck

And shove them up his … (well, you get the idea!)