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Xonnet
The light flickers off dripping candle wax,
as my mind slowly begins to relax.
As if drifting along the River Styx.
The vision in my mind I did
transfix.
My dreams Intertwined with the devil's flax.
Why is the journey of life so complex?
Why on me did you cast this evil hex?
To a life so quite confused
and perplex.
Will I be in a never-ending flux?
I feel I am sitting on the convex.
Caught in this forever-spinning vortex.
I must take control and
my life I'll fix.
But first the sly devil I must outfox.
Before he can open Pandora's box!
©2002 Crystal Rose
FAT TO THE MAX
Xonnet
When losing weight, TV is made to vex;
All chefs use marscapone in the mix,
Or lumps of lard, or buttercream
or Trex,
It really puts weight-watchers in a fix.
How
can one walk and shimmy like a fox
When low fat fromage frais is rather lax,
And only double cream can rock one's box,
And only chocolate helps
us to relax?
One teaspoonful, or maybe five or six,
of olive oil, within the cauldron's hex,
Then pork crackling and cheese
into the mix,
How do those chefs stay fit enough for sex?
This
gourmet food is fatty to the max,
So let's skip lunch and go for a leg wax.
© by Sara Russell, 2002
Pink Slip, Deluxe
The machine hummed away, spit out
a fax.
She stopped, scanned resumes, turned to a box
overflowing with mail, certain the ax
would
fall without warning. Her boss, sly fox
that he was, had advertised for a tax
accountant with her skills.
She wished a pox
on his house and left for the spa, a wax
treatment, a massage and nails painted onyx.
She returned to the office after six
searching for ammunition to perplex
his plans, and perhaps, a permanent
fix
to the org chart. Some dirt, nothing complex.
Eureka! A journal. Illicit sex.
She smiled.
One more lover, soon-to-be ex.
© by Deborah P. Kolodji 20122002
Carfax
From Transylvania to Halifax
We sailed against fierce gales, because
his hex
Had been cast on us, nor could we relax
Until we'd left behind that dark complex
Spell
Dracula had cast when of his six
Sarcophagi, one was lost in Carfax,
Who knows where, hid amidst thin candle
wix,
And spider webs and globs of dripping wax!
It came to pass (we'd thought) we'd left that box,
Accursèd crate,
and fired our dreams to fix
On greener pastures here! Alas, the pox
Had hounded us across the pond. That
fox
Had snuck below our decks, where soon he'd flex
His fangs! And he gave us all apoplex
-y!
© by Richard Vallance 2002
December 17th., 2002
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