A place for poems and pics
I did not sign up for
this experiment
this test of daring-do
it goes against my timid
nature
the laws of nature
should not be taunted
flaunted, flung
into the void
I am the human
element in a dream
experiment holding back
the empty promises
of dawn
the past beckons
inviting me to sit for
a while
to relax with a cup of tea
“we’ve had such fun. remember
when …… ”
it tempts me
it’s comfortable there
familiar
it would be easy to stay
embraced in the arms
of Postverta forever
but I must stumble forward
something’s stirring just
around the next bend
her armor is a pair of baggy garden
jeans with clay stained knees
and frayed seams – her boots
bright red rubber
armed with hose and spray
nozzle she does battle with
the truculent sun trying to
reverse the siege of
parched earth
her knuckles are scratched,
pricked as she carefully
tweaks each flower –
off with their heads –
then stealthily browses along
stria searching under
bedraggled
leaves for invading insects
knowing if she slacks off
she will lose the war
the sky begins to turn
pewter a sign the present
skirmish has come to an
end
she hangs up her battle gear,
bows her head, bids farewell
to the retreating sun
I flung my frail poetic words
up to the flaming star, the sun
letters rained down, rejected, shunned
scattered like storm-tossed twigs, undone
but birds and bees have salvaged them
reclaimed, renewed, turned into song
the air around me shimmers, hums
with hymn of fantasy begun
( I used the word sun and got the binary code 01110011)
Hum a tune today
a simple sound that
starts deep inside, then
rises up rushing past
cords, plucking them along
the way, bouncing around
in cavities and tickling lips
as it sneaks out into
the open
no need to be a seated
Memnon or wait for
the rising sun to strike
all
alone
or in a crowd
hum a little tune today
sun and moon conspire
to cover earth with a dark
cloak eclipsing light
The yellow brick road is
Full of weeds
No one believes in the
Wonderful Wizard or
His magic any longer
Glenda and the Wicked
Witch have opened a
Cafe in downtown Oz
Dorothy has abandoned
Her ruby slippers and
Started a rescue farm
For Flying Monkeys
Only Toto remembers
The way home
mesh tents
hang
cemented in forks
of a choke cherry
their prevalence a
sign of springs arrival
the morass of squirming
life inside emerges like
reporters spilling from
a courtroom
they amble
down
a
silken
gangway
in a caterpillar kind
of follow-the-leader
to search for tasty leaves,
aquiver as bird shadows
cover them
and I glibly pass by with
no sonder
(posted in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle # 61)
there’s
nothing
like it now
no eskimo
walrus or guitar man who can pen like
Zimmy did in those hazy days of youth
the ships have sailed
come on in
nothing’s
new
rhymeswithbug 