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,
popular
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.”
Meant-to’s
Stifling an urge to dance is bad for your health — it rusts your spirit and
Pecan trees
blue-sky chilly breeze
accentuates bare branches
with starling-shaped leaves
September backyard
sprightly little yellow butterflies
flitter their aërial dance in pairs
through tireless mud dauber paths
and webs sway vacant in the breeze
of poor spiders caught unawares
October-blood
come scarlet leaves and falling light
this time of year — October-blood
runs through the veins of autumn —
slowing heartbeat and longer breaths
shorter daytimes and chilling nights
warm hearts and sanguine thoughts
Stay the night
The moon is always
running away from me
as if she thinks that time
is just a cyclical game
of hide & seek —
She runs and runs
then keeps on running
leaving me to the mystery
of why the nights run short
and the days even shorter
Please, Moon —
just for one night
can’t you sit still
and stay a while
We can have
a midnight tea —
just you and me
we’ll talk all night
and bask in the glow
of your regal beauty
Wax & wane
We may as well make
friends with Change —
the instant the Moon is full
it’s already starting to wane
Doppelgänger
moonlit winter trees
bare branches paint gray shadows
ghostly risen roots
Christmas night
great horned christmas caroling owl
crooning to a nearly full cold moon—
aromatic firewood smoke dancing
with chill desert air and winter stars—
people holidaying with indoor trees
oblivious to nature’s nighttime party