Like
To
Learn
To
Knit,
But
Wool
Makes
Me
Itch,
And
I Can’t
Stand
To
Drop
A
Stitch,
Or
Lose
A
Knot.
Besides,
Sweaters
Are
Too
Hot.
I’m
Useless,
I’m
Afraid,
Can
Only
Wear
What’s
Ready
Made,
And
Sit,
Unoccupied,
In
The
Shade.
I’d
Like To Learn To Knit, But Wool Makes Me Itch, And I Can’t Stand To Drop A Stitch, Or Lose A Knot. Besides, Sweaters Are Too Hot. I’m Useless, I’m Afraid, Can Only Wear What’s Ready Made, And Sit, Unoccupied, In The Shade.
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I’ve
Often Thought I’d Like To Write Thrillers, Full Of Attractive, Psychopathic Killers, But In Books I’ve Read, Nice People Wind Up Dead. The Mystery Is Cool, But It’s Cruel The Way Bodies Pile Up In Ungainly Clots To Keep The Story Tied In Knots, Stacking Clues When The Luckless Have Paid Heavy Dues. I Change Countries, Climes, And Roll Back Time, But The Victims Haunt My Dreams With Silent Screams. I Turn Away To Write Things That Don’t Put Me In A Fright, Or Keep Me Up Late At Night. The
Sun Slants Sideways At Day’s End, And The Bumblebees Sway Among The Purple Sage. Then, The Huge Carpenter Bees Intrude, And Lazily Bend The Plant Down To The Ground With Their Weight, While The Shy Honeybees Patiently Hover, As The Hour Grows Late. Two
Starlings Perch On An Elm Branch, Twit And Grumble, In Gruff Bird Romance, Then Mimic What They Hear From Activity Near. Sounds Unravel Like Raking Over Gravel, Whistles, Burps, And Chirps. They Cackle, Shrilly Trill, Then Open Yellow Beaks And Sing Like Anything. The
Pink Full Moon Rises Before Dusk, A Semi- Transparent Husk, And Rolls Up The Watered Blue Of Sky, Silent As A Sigh. It’s Early, As Though It Could Not Wait To Breach Heaven’s Invisible Gate. In The Coming Hours Night Will See It Darken Among Cloud Misty Bars, Floating Free Among The Stars. Water
And Mud. Riding The Flood, Sons And Daughters Lost In The Waters. Dim The Light, Dark Is The Night, The Moon’s Pocked Glow Raindrops On Snow. A Long Journey Hence, Tears Dried To A Crust, Nothing Solid, Then Crumbling Dust, Layered In Rust. My
Father, Born This Day A Century Away. Tall, Ernest, Cheerful Despite All, He Answered The Call Of The Church, And In The Lurch Of Life And Unimaginable Strife, His Brief Life Dwindled And Was Done, Amen. Since Then, I Fill In The Time I Never Knew, His Boyhood, Happy On His Father’s Land, The Bluegrass Of Kentucky Close At Hand, His Brothers Near. The Cherished Memory Of Him Painfully Dear, I Can Almost Hear His Laughter As I Miss Him Forever After. Starting
Today, I’ll Make Everything Right. I’ll Find The Words, I’ll See The Light. I Won’t Slip, Falter, Or Fall, I’ll Truly, Faithfully, Give It My All. I May Fail, And If I Do, I Promise You, Tomorrow I’ll Begin All Over Again. The
Past Slips Across My Dreams Like A Ship, The Taste Of The Sea On My Lips. I Sail Across Brief Time, Waiting For The Bell To Sound That Final Chime, My Tale All Ended In A Tender Kiss, Fading Into A Fragrant Mist. You
May Meet With Scorn And Laughter If It’s True Love You’re After. Most Have No Use For The Disarray, Stay Well Away, And Settle For The Temporary, Shallow, Fleeting, Thing, And Guard Their Heart. As For Me, I’ll Risk The Stormy Sea And Reckless Dance Of Sweet, Deeply Felt, Romance. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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