my life is a mess
but this moment is perfect
my life is perfect
poems
Parti-colored
earth’s favorite color is spring
spring’s best-loved color is green
and green himself loves to party
with yellow, red, orange, and pink
Autumn’s clock
In the wheel of Earth’s years
we watch as Autumn’s clock
Tick-tocks in tiny goldenrod
September petal’d seconds
Frosty trees bleed scarlet hours
through veins of October leaves
Amber minutes wither and fall
drifting in November’s breeze
And the silent strike of midwinter
turns December’s snowflake gears
Whirlwind
bee-buzzed blooms
wilt white into winter —
hellish heavy heat
silently softens to snow —
lovely lustrous leaves
fall freckled in frost —
senescent slanting sun
solstices southward —
the young year yules
dizzily debarks december
Free spirit
i don’t want to be
just a strand of dna
passing through time
or an echo of a face
repeated down the line
just another leaf falling
from the family tree
a bloodline that someday
ends with the end of me —
i want to be the sky
or an eternal poem
wildflowers growing
wherever seeds roam
i want to be the wind
or wandering clouds
or the rain that drifts
or a free soaring bird
or starshine at night —
eternity’s glowing
ethereal light
In the autumn wood
green-veined leaves suddenly blushing copper
bronze-edged trees swaying in autumn breezes
gold foliage drifting past pewter branches baring all
brass-hued leaflets dying in beauty, falling in grace
Spring is so —
Spring is so damn pink!
O yes, it’s vibrantly green
and greenly vibrant too—
reds burst, oranges blaze
yellows beam like the sun
violet dazzles vivid delight
blue paints the entire sky—
but the thing that thrills
my soul the most is that
Spring is so damn pink!
Growing old
minutes bloom
hours flower
seconds vine
through the hands
of time —
days hustle
weeks speed
decades scatter
in confetti’d years
Book party!
Let’s get drunk at the library
and have a book party!
“What a good time!” she said
in an excited whisper.
scrambled blackout poetry created from F. Scott Fitzgerald,
Censorship
To kill words with fear,
It’s a dreadful thing.
—Don’t.
“Censorship: What the D!ck@%$?” — blackout poetry created from
Spring awake
earth dreams of spring
in her winter slumbers
she dozes on and off —
then trembles wide awake
a silent green earthquake
Writing up a storm
phoenix monsoon storm
haboob isn’t dirty word
it is dusty though
Palm’s psalm
Wind tries to show Tree how to run wild.
Tree: “I cannot leave this place.”
Wind: “Then let’s dance.”