‘Pretty Things’ by Cathy MacKenzie

Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month, the task is to use the topic “pretty little things.” This week’s contribution comes from Cathy MacKenzie. She’s written hidden meanings into this poem—though likely no one will “get it.” She loves to compose rhyming poems even though rhyming poems are passé and her poems lame. Oh well…

Cathy’s novels, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel or stand-alone (18+), are available on Amazon. MY BROTHER, THE WOLF, the last of the series, is scheduled for release in 2022/2023.


“Pretty Things” by Cathy MacKenzie


Oh, pretty things,

Everything life brings

Thrusts us into a role,

Most times in control,

Presenting all that’s fine—

Love, bonbons, wine—

Other times not to win

With lies that spin

And minds as hard

As a mirror shard.


Pretty things,

Each one clings,

Never letting go,

Though we dull the glow

When we stray

And chant and pray,

Stay, stay, do not leave,

We will grieve

What’s lost

Amid the horrid cost.


Pretty things,

Ding, dong—many dings—

Who’s at the door

Wanting more,

The monster man

With a plan

And words to spout,

Or the person without,

The quiet one

Who wants to run?


Pretty things

Are queens or kings,

Come from Hell or a cell,

Live for a spell,

Rugged, clean

Like a stalk of bean

Standing tall

Even when small,

But brave

Until tossed in its grave.


Pretty things,

Hear the pings?

What’s in store,

Hidden in the drawer,

Money, lies, hate?

Two bods that mate,

Hate, hate, love?

What will fit the glove?

Answers are never clear

In this life so dear.


Pretty things,

Bangles and rings

Shine bright

In the night

’Til day dawns

To numerous yawns,

Revealing a shine

That’s only a sign

Of sullied spots

And dirty dots.


Pretty things,

Everyone sings,

Not all that’s pretty glows,

Only God knows

The promises we make,

Ones we don’t break,

The secret ones

That weigh tons,

Plus those hidden,

Forever forbidden.


Pretty things,

Arms in slings,

Winds rage in a storm,

Taking away the warm,

Toppling all that’s good,

Everything that stood

Strong and brave

Until tossed into that grave,

Waiting for rebirth

Or dead forever on earth.


Pretty things

Fresh as seasonal springs

Are born, live, then die,

Shy or sly

They reach from Hell

To shake Heaven’s bell,


Stiff as poles

Filled with hate,

Still try to love and mate.


Pretty things,

Everyone stings,

Kiss, make up, forgive,

Or continue to live,

Exposed like glass

Or as invisible as gas,

Still can’t disappear

From this crowed sphere,

But hope remains

To re-warm frigid veins.


Pretty things,

Flimsy as strings,

So pretty in disguise

Though it hurts our eyes

To view the glare

Alongside the flair

Of glitter and gold,

For everything grows old,

And hearts still tarnish

Despite the varnish.


Pretty things,

See the swings?

Fun in the park

Where babes leave a mark

And adults wheel and deal,

Share and feel,

Ponder life

And strife,

Babes too young to know

Of winds to blow.


Pretty things,

Grow wings,

Fly far, far away,

There will be a better day

When you can thrive

And survive

And seize the gold prize,

Ignore the lies,

Don a happy face

And live in that new place.


Pretty things,

Too fast life zings,

Builds up walls,

Throws curveballs,

Muddle and exist,

Endure the fist,

Find strengths

No matter what lengths,

Live fine and strong,

You’ll never go wrong.


The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

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