I’m not afraid to tell it
How the flora on my left
Likes to brag to all the fauna
That she’s taken with the West
Maybe ’twas the mountain
Or the headlands on the coast
Who touched soft upon her shoulder
And of whom, ’til death, she’ll boast
Tag Archives: Poetry
This Haiku: Day Early
They’re red. They’re lilac.
And in your honor, flannel.
I will let you choose.
Shakespeare’s Cup
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “S/he Said.”
She asked him to wish and he said,
“I wish that were tea. I wish that were me. I wish there were we.”
“Fool,” she smiled. “Now that’s true madness.”
“Ah, just as well then,” he remarked. “But loan me your cup?”
This Is July
Commemorative colors
Spinning, lighting up night’s sky
Birthday candles, Birthday candles
Bringing tears to eyes
All-Stars, will you teach us
What teamwork is all about
While we wander in the mountains,
Reflecting lakes up in the clouds
We move just a touch slower
Its the heat -we don’t ask why
Time to take off shirts
After all, this is July
Disguise
An irritant
A tickle
A poke
And lo,
A prodding
An advance unrelenting until
The rush
The reaction
Hadn’t dared hoped for
Not unexpected
Still unpredicted
Tears without rhyme
Laughter sans reason
That spins
And sends
Then spikes the heart rateIt addicts
It tricks
Who beckons who
This Haiku: Frenetic
Imagine green eyes
Imagine all things silly
Imagine my meow
integrity does deliver
And must it be that winning
Be based on zero-sum
When there is pie as grand as Earth
Our cupboards bursting with the stock of the brave of heart
A good, good courier -integrity, does deliver
Sixth Sense
The air I finally touched
And found it covered in humanity
Chiseled, curved
Rigid, as it can be, and supple where it should
The air felt broken, but, marked with hope, was actually whole
Smelling of dust from the Day-in-Day-out and the patient, rainless years
I asked it to kiss me nevertheless
I’m glad it did, for I learned
There, on its lips, was the taste of us, each of us
I felt unsurprised
The Right Fabric
We need
A something
Four wheels
Bench seats
Stick shiftOne, true, motor
Silent roads
No compass
Only stars
Not indulgence
Just survival
How I Do
How purely awful it would be
Were I a puppeteer
As if my vision for these dolls
Be more brilliant or more clear
Than dreams and hopes that they themselves
And The Creator too
Have knit within their very hearts
To which they ought make true
Release the strings I’m duty-bound
Performed with my delight
My sole request you let me gaze
Upon your gorgeous flight
And should you wish here is my hand
Holding my firm promise:
I’ll sing “Freedom,” honor your walk,
Applaud what you call bliss
