Never
Mind
The
Hearts
And
Flowers,
Daylight
Savings
Racks
My
Powers.
Who
Decides
To
Take
Away
A
Precious
Portion
Of
My
Day
I cannot
Say.
I would
Like
To
Tell
Them
To
Shove
It
All,
Knowing
The
Nuisance
Will
Return
In
The
Fall.
Stolen Hours
Never Mind The Hearts And Flowers, Daylight Savings Racks My Powers. Who Decides To Take Away A Precious Portion Of My Day I cannot Say. I would Like To Tell Them To Shove It All, Knowing The Nuisance Will Return In The Fall.
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Endday
If I should Fall, The Work Provides All I have Between Me And Infinity, Jude’s Club Against Obscurity And The Rub Of Eternity. The Bulk Of It, The Mass, May Surpass The Little Trouble Of Death, That Will Steal The Light, And Still The Breath. Pursuit
It Is A Risky Path To Tread, Seeking To Retrieve The Dead, Descend In Fear And Dread To Find The Loved Thing Lost, No Matter The Cost. But Death Lays Cold Hands On Love That Has Passed Beyond Our Claim, To Leave Us Lonely, With Only A Name. Nowhere To Nowhere
Here’s A Shout Out To Our Former Mayor Berry, That Construction Fairy, A Sleazy Little Man, Even For A Republican, Who, Although The Citizens Screamed, Vowed He Dreamed Of A Rapid Bus Line His Builder Buddies, To Enrich, Reducing Historic Nob Hill To A Year’s Long Muddy Ditch. And There It Stands, The Unfinished Work Of His Thieving Hands, No Buses, No Trees, No Patrons In The Shops, Can’t Turn Right, Can’t Turn Left, Say The Cops, The Battered Street Is Totally Bereft. Roast In Hell, Mr. Mayor, And Tell The Devil Down Below What You Did With The Taxpayers Dough. Harbinger
Lady Dove Is Building Her Nest, Flying Without Rest From My Wintry Lawn To The Predator Diverting Plum Then, Calm, To The Spikey Palm Across The Street. She Will Repeat The Gathering Of Dried Grasses In Dozens Of Passes, Over And Over, In The Service Of Her Dove Lover. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
March 2024
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