Mrs. Claus wanders off

Mrs. Claus Hates Sonnets (2)
[Modified the original from 2007. I think it’s less awkward now]

Santa Claus left her
a sonnet to read:

The romp of love beguiles, a playful horse
my heart a rider gripping spirit’s trip
a bit of banter falls from saddled lips.
A candor canters, musical in source
a clip-clop hoofing it, my fruit is tossed.
Her lust is cantaloupes so sweetly quipped
yet love’s a cherry deeply red of lip
outspoken rips in bound’ries’ gorgeous loss


I know you love me mole and mountain bluff.
I show my cards, won’t raise to bluff a love.
It’s real this deal of sharing zeal, a bliss
no gamble oneness riding thought enough
to join two souls, a coup by doves
who fly with coos to play the music’s kiss

But music’s blue bliss
was missing in his lists, and

Mrs. Claus hated his bluffing,
his gruff buffoonery, for
rarely did she see
in his cherry lips
or in his cheeks
a true love felt, but

she could play nice
with farce no more, for
fantasy wishes held in
boxes and bells
could not suffice, and
she wrote poems
in free verse alone

Yet
Santa answered
delightful letters
from giddy children, and

she received letters
of rejection from the
poetry editor,
a trochee donkey
iambic like an ass, thus

she hated when the big one
went away on Christmas,
when the snow looked like
semen dried up and flaky,
Nick’s departing stomach
like a pregnant indulgence
she’d want herself, hence

Finally, one Christmas
when no more
could she count
snow flakes on her tongue,
the elves, the reindeer,
the orphan toys, when
her emptiness drove her
to insanity, finally she
drove to the city of sin
in an empty sleigh with
her naked body wrapped only
in a fur coat, its pocket containing
her Santa cell phone, then

She left the sleigh,
tied the reindeer to a lamp pole,
strolled the streets showing a leg,
singing “Ho, ha, ha”; Heaven’s
white tears covered her head as
she peered into snow’s grasp
waiting for a finger of love, but
gasped to see a lost girl like a dove

So she hoo, ha, ha’ed the girl
’till the crying subsided,
asked her name
heard Lisa

“Where’s your Daddy?”
She didn’t know,
said he went for a quickie walk.

As Mrs. Claus looked to find him
in thickening snow, her head wore
a white crown of sorrow. Though

Lisa skipped and jumped
a treat of laughter like
a calf not straying too far,
waiting for an available teat

Mrs. Claus walked, showing a leg. A man
appeared from nowhere, laid
his hand on her thigh
like a roadway, followed the path

but stopped, noticing
her glistening tears. Peering
into her eyes, he saw
he knew her
once before

Just then, the
Santa cell phone rang.
The Elf Secret Service said,
there’s been a sleigh crash, and
Santa is dead.

The world was wrapped in gloom
as Mrs. Claus
brushed snow from her head

Joy fell from artificial boons
and wrappers filled the ocean

With a poof
unreal gifts
vanished in a twinkle,
elves all banished
to a realm of puff

Starlight appeared
on Lisa’s tears,
a word on innocent lips:
“Can we all be married, Daddy?”

With a ho, ho, ha
and a ho, ho, ho
they vowed to
do better with love
to listen to snow
gust up and swirl,
to see a gift like a crystal
had already been born

A Major Question About Cream Cheese Shortage in Minor (prose)

What is it anyway?

    I don’t know but it seems like cream cheese is basically milk curdled with lemon juice or vinegar and small curds whipped smooth. So my question is: “Can you buy cottage cheese and whip it smooth in a blender with a little milk or cream?”
    Well, I suppose too that you can just make it from scratch if there’s no milk shortage. [ Homemade Cream Cheese By Gemma Stafford: “… It starts with milk, then… lemon juice. …2 ingredients create a reaction which curdles the cheese… Then …straining the cheese from the whey… is the beginnings…”]
    So, this brings up another issue. Why do we make mysterious and celebrate plain simple and tasteless food that is just used as a texture and holder of the real flavorful item. Cream cheese is the holder of smoked salmon, or holder of sugar, sour cream, and vanilla.
    Look, if you are lost or hiding in the woods then worms and insects are good to eat, but it’s silly to take them home and celebrate them as “gourmet food.” If you are poor, sure, you can eat plain cheese, but it’s nothing to celebrate. Imported Danish Blue cheese is real cheese. Plain American cheese is a disgrace. Well, yeah, it can be healthy with worms and grasshoppers, but who wants that unless there is a horde of locusts nearby.
    Maybe only the Earl of Sandwich was aware of the concept of a “holder.” He used bread to hold the meat while he gambled so that grease would not get on the cards.
    There’s a plausible argument to be made that Marie Antoinette never actually said, “…Let them eat cake…” but actually said, “Let them eat cream cheese,” and that was whey overboard**.
    **Oh, gosh, I see that the rumor was that she said, “Qu’ils mangent de la brioche.” Let them eat brioche. I had that once from the supermarket. It was really good. I wonder if I can put cream cheese on it with crumbled blue cheese topped with anchovies, onions and tomatoes?

No Good Wǎngqiú Goes Unpunished

Peng Shuai Takes the Ball In Her Court (Draft 1)

Is it not the nature of animal vice
that the premier Lion party predator
will chase the antelope in shorts?

In the melon of the times
there are melon balls
and tennis balls, but

Ladies of tennis
must not feed
antelope cantaloupe
because

Deputy underling Mu Nu says
tennis does not exist anymore.

The Vice Premier says “Tenez!”
— take, receive, dear girl, yes
dress gracefully for the Vice
and lift your slip with song, oh

Lambda, mu, nu, do advance
the melancholy letter of the Law
and let slip away the melon collie dogs
who defeat the melancholy of the word

Lambda, Mu, Nu, Xi
she’s played

In war, havoc! The spoils, and
the word tennis is disappeared.

Yes, He and every Vice Premier
know the spirit of Tenez!
where the balls are in your
courtrooms and
words are leashed.