Wedgewood
Plate
Of
Sky,
Frosted
Clouds
Slipping
By,
Lift
Of
Trees
In
A
Lilting
Breeze.
Below,
Poised
To
Fly,
A
Trio
Of
Birds,
And
Me,
Swimming
In
A
Sea
Of
Words.
Day Six
Wedgewood Plate Of Sky, Frosted Clouds Slipping By, Lift Of Trees In A Lilting Breeze. Below, Poised To Fly, A Trio Of Birds, And Me, Swimming In A Sea Of Words.
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Hope
On The Shady Side Of A Dying Vine, Two Morning Glories Open Rumpled Azure Trumpets, The Twin Bells Damp With Dew. These Two Remain Of Only A Few, The Growth Turned Brown, And The Vine Sank Down, But Leaves Above Stayed Alive And Blossoms Survived. Hallelujah! Life, Here’s To You. Timeline
Over The Years, Over The Cares, Days Climbed Three At A Time, Like Stairs. Quaffed Brim To Dregs, Cracked Like Eggs, Spent By The Score, Hands Out For More. Spilled Like Gumdrops, Licked Like Lollipops. Cut Down Like Weeds, To Suit My Needs, But Before I was Done, Time Won, And It Was All Like, ... Gone. Augury
Last Night, I dreamed A Legion Of The Dead Came And Stood Beside My Bed. School Friends And Guys I dated, Some I loved And A Few I hated, Holding In Their Hands Chances I missed, Pursing Pale Lips I once Kissed. One Had A List Of Old Regrets, The Sort One Happily Forgets, Mistakes Coiled Like Paper Snakes, In A Box Made Out Of Rocks. I pulled The Cover To My Chin And Before I could Confess My Past Had Been A Mess, They Faded Into The Dawn, And Left Me To Carry On, Heedless Fool That Is Me, A Last Leaf On The Tree. Ruins
Archeology Makes No Apology For Digging Up Ancient Tombs, Prying Through Burial Rooms, Unearthing Broken Tool And Shard Without Regard For Hosts Of Observant Ghosts Of Old, While Searching For Scraps Of Gold Or Any Clue As To What Mankind Used To Do. There Is The Crook And Flail Of Might, Hidden From Sight These Multitude Of Years, With Hopes And Fears To Reach An After Life. Vital Organs Packed In A Jar, But They Did Not Travel Far, Are Found Deep Under Ground, Withered To Shrunken Skin And Bone, Humanly All Alone, Silent As Stone. Deluge
Because The Water Was Too Warm And The Wind Too Strong, The Elemental Balance Went Wrong, And The Sea Sloshed Over The Land Like A Spilled Saucer Of Tea, Washing Away Every House And Tree For As Far As One Can See. Foolish Humans, Who Build On Sand And Think To Withstand Forces Beyond Scope, Which Know Nothing Of Hope Or Strife, And Calmly Recede After The Deed Is Done, And Nature Has Won. World’s End
I wish I could Recapture Youth’s Careless Rapture, Look Into The Glass And See She Who Once Was Me, Magically Back Where I used To Be. That Existence Was Gone As Soon As I moved On, But How Could I know There Would Be So Far To Run, Or That I would So Soon Be Undone, Lost In The Daily Strife Of A Complex Life, And As I travel, Watch It All Unravel. September Song
Water, Water Everywhere, Deeper Than The Metaphor Of Prayer, Washing Homes To Rubble In A Fetid Bubble, Wind Blowing Progress To Broken Sticks, In Nature’s Naughty Tricks. No Car To Drive To Stay Alive, No Boat To Float To Some Safe Shore, No Food In The Grocery Store, No Clean Water To Drink, No Time To Think As Everything Begins To Sink. What Now For Our Lofty, Human, Frail Plan, With Nowhere Dry To Take A Stand? After A Hurricane, Nothing But Regret Will Remain. Breaking
CNN Gives Me The Blues With Their Version Of The News. They Present Panels To Discuss The Annals, Two Persons Reasonably Sane, Two Devoid Of A Brain. It Becomes A Cat Fight, With Much Hissing And Spitting, Distorting What Little Info Viewers Are Getting. Woe To The Nation, I grieve, And Change The Station. Ephemera
One Morning Glory, Heavenly Blue, Peeps Through The Twisted Vine, Shaded From The Sunshine That Will Wither It By Noon. Too Soon, Too Soon, To Lose This Early Burst Of Bloom, That Like Youth, Like Love, Like Truth, Fades Before We Fully See How Brief And Fragile Beauty Can Be. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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