Night
Dragged
Icy
Cold
Over
The
Mountain
Crags
While
I Slept,
And
Swept
Snow
Into
Sloping
Cracks
And
Rocky
Tracks.
The
Sun
Will
Come
And
Bring
A
Hint
Of
Distant
Spring,
But
Winter
Waits
With
Fists
Of
Frost,
Once
The
Day
Is
Lost.
The
Night Dragged Icy Cold Over The Mountain Crags While I Slept, And Swept Snow Into Sloping Cracks And Rocky Tracks. The Sun Will Come And Bring A Hint Of Distant Spring, But Winter Waits With Fists Of Frost, Once The Day Is Lost.
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Tell Me About Snow, I Already Know. Back In NYC, It Was Common To Be Four Wheels Frozen To The Ground, The Car Become A Shapeless Mound. Driving Was Olympic Stuff, And Finally, I Had Enough. I’m Way Out Here In LaLa Land, Where If I See A Drift, It’s Sand. Snow
Clouds Sink Like Frothy Suds Down The Mountain Drain, Leaving Behind No Rain. Desert Dust Accumulates On Dinner Plates, And Every Horizontal Relates Efforts To Sweep, But It Still Grows Deep. It’s Such A Bore, I Just Ignore It All Until I Break, And Give The House A Through Shake. The
Rising Sun Slants Rays Of Rusty Pink Into The Inky, Sluggish Day, Brushing Lingering Sleep Away. Traffic Rises To Pierce The Remnants Of The Night With Blazing, Ice Cold, Head Lights. Two
Black Dogs At The Gate Merge And Separate Into The Murk, Off To Do Their Doggy Work. So Dark Is The Night, Even Their Eyes Catch No Light, Then They Return Again, Blackly Bright. Hooray!
It’s Inauguration Day. Having Been Given The Popular Dump, We’re Finally Rid Of Ex- President Trump. He Lied And He Cheated, But Was Soundly Defeated. And Where Will He Land, The Despicable Leech? The Crook Isn’t Wanted In West Palm Beach. What
Is Writing But A Word Game We Play, Stretching To Reach What We Need To Say? It All Emerges From Somewhere Deep, In Sleeping Memories Stored Away, Or Flat Invented, Every Day. Will The Hero Triumph? Is Milady Willing? It’s All Quite Thrilling. No Matter How The Story Comes Out, Isn’t That What We’re About? Skunks,
Like The Mink, Stink. One Is Vicious And Apt To Bite, One Is Known By A Stripe Of White. These Days, Wearing Fur Will Earn You A Nasty Slur. When Running Wild In Canada, I Wore A Lucious Coat, The Icy Cold A Daily Habit, And Even Socially Worse, It Was Rabbit. Let’s
You And I Pretend That Loveliness Never Ends, Not Youth Or Darling Friends, That What We Lost Or Tossed Away Will Charm The Present Day, And Once More Lead Us Out To Play. Keys To Nowhere, Misty Faces, Distant Places, Lovers Gone, But We Go On, Able To Recall When We Had It All. Some
Think The Gift Of God Is Glue, Useful To Mend And Bind Things You Find Have Broken In Two. I Do Like Glue, But Am Fonder Of Tape, As A Way To Escape Torn Edges With Scarcely A Trace Of My Careless Tatters, In A Race To Preserve Precious Paper That Matters. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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