Thoughts that sometime...rhyme

it’s not a strain, a workout for your brain. it knows when to train, and when to stay out of the rain. When you find weeds in your garden, hoe ‘em, when your head is tired, write a poem. Poetry is not about a form. it’s about a way to make your head warm. it’s not always easy to make sense, when... Sign in to see full entry.

June swings, grassy skirt swaying in the summer breeze longer days the buzzing of bees. Alas Summer has barely begun yet the year is nearly half gone and I’m starting to look forward to the time when I won’t have to mow the lawn. The sun sets red in the Northern hills. That the long days last such a... Sign in to see full entry.

The rainy day slunk over the hill drip drop slip slop. It’s diaphanous gray skirt obscured the mountains flanks and the sun didn’t even flirt. The soft power of an eight hour shower. The roof hisses tall grass bends growing inches before the downpour ends. The eves drip drop, the wipers flip flop... Sign in to see full entry.

The words of the poet spill out across the paper black on white. The words of the philosopher fill many volumes white or black? The morning headlines leave muddy tracks across the page dire warnings all. What you should wear who you should be all in three part harmony. Words Words Words what do they... Sign in to see full entry.

The cruelness of the world crested the hill mounted on a horse the color of greed and selfishness, flared nostrils foaming, spewing, froth that contaminated everything it touched. Raring up on hind legs of lust and shameless profit the front legs of desire and instant gratification blasted the... Sign in to see full entry.

It always amazes me to see rat mazes with people living in them. Rat mazes like New York City endless squares and rectangles connected by tangles of pavement traversed by yellow cabs syncopated by yellow, red and green lights. People living in buildings that look the same inside doesn’t matter all... Sign in to see full entry.

Time stands still in the wading pool. Ripples run to the edge then back to my legs, time reaching into the future then pulling me along. Constant thoughts of the past and what could have been done what should have been done what wasn’t done. The past is fixed, gone, done. We can never change that,... Sign in to see full entry.

The screen door rattled on it’s rusty hinges. Knock! Knock! Knock! And there stood fate on the porch in dusty shoes neither asking to come in nor offering to leave. We looked each other solidly in the eye for what seemed an eternity No One Blinked Finally I had to know “are you here for me?” And the... Sign in to see full entry.

W H H S O O the pendulum of time swings never stopping always forward moving into the future until it is the past nothing, it seems is made to last, not even forever for we won’t be around to see it ever. Sign in to see full entry.

My hair my hair. I hate to be defined by something that’s not there. Sign in to see full entry.