I reside where words collide
sentences run on
paragraphs are swept aside
punctuation gone
commas, periods delight
maybes showing off their might
hide a deeper meaning
or just maybe, preening
and in any case, if lower
or if upper, faster, slower
taking all of it in stride
I reside where words collide
reason is the harshest prison
caged by maybes and what ifs
day is rarely for the seizin'
wisdom, precious of all gifts
puts up barricades and hurdles
bottlenecks and barricades
and your will dissolves or curdles
grey dispersing into shades
squirrel opens with a gambit
sacrifices middle pawn
jay ignores -- cares not a damn bit
if the game is won or drawn
but the squirrel fears no peril
and proceeds with the attack
and the jay, in blue apparel?
it just came here for a snack
white attire, wolves are dire
just as Evil does not tire
nor does Good go home for winter
snow may blow but does not hinder
Good will fight till all is well
as to why -- it does not dwell
what are metaphors for --
make us listen?
we prefer to adore
that which glistens
drawn as always
to gold, even fool's
looking for
ways to turn
glass to jewels
Come, love, and let the seasons take their course
and etch their stubborn markings on our skin;
the fountains of our youth exhaust their source.
The end, though not yet near, knows to begin.
Wine doesn't taste the same -- a stronger brew
is needed to affect a certain glow.
Old jokes are funny -- harder with the new.
Our bodies fighting age, but blow by blow,
they're losing -- hope to last till latter rounds,
but in the meantime, put up a good fight.
Oh, not as dire as that, don't make those sounds!
The day, it may be over, but the night
is plush, dark velvet, and the hunter's moon
is glorious, so let's not leave too soon.
riders on the storm
wind is wet and warm
our house is falling down
and the emperor, no crown
sitcom actor, all alone
there's no message on the phone
riders on the storm
swords turned into plows
never mind the hows
they are rusting in the fields
so forget about their yields
if you want to go to war
they shall plow the earth no more
swords turned into plows
girl, we live but for today
no more honor and obey
if he doesn't hold your hand
he will never understand
see him off and see him gone
and the world will just move on
girl, we live but for today
Author notes: https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/doors/ridersonthestorm.html
fair Vermont with all the staples
lakeside lodge -- the scarlet maples
will soon shed their fall attire
but for now the hill's on fire
as the trees reflect below
lodge is bathing in their glow
most have come for peace and quiet
though some labor to deny it
claim they're just here for the season
need no other rhyme or reason
then October in the air
and November's almost there
but a few will try to capture
thrill, intoxicate, enrapture:
being there, they feel a duty
to attempt and share its beauty
to portray it in repose…
count me among one of those
Amidst the warriors of old
Ranked by the stories that are told
There's one that surely does stand out
Heralded, written all about
Uniting virtue in his cause
Returning, some day, to applause
curling up with a good book
while outside, the sun is shining
this one has her from the hook
motionless, she is reclining
lovingly, she strokes each page
woman of a certain age
Author notes: image from weathlysinglemommy.com
Mellow meadow, sky is hazy.
Sun as yellow as a daisy,
soon will turn to scarlet poppy.
Could they ever be as happy?
Laughing now, he scoops some flowers.
"Here" he says. "The world is ours!"
Author notes: image from goodtherapy.org
Montmorency was quite antsy
when he got into the boat.
Was it solely, fully, wholly,
cause he thought it doesn't float?
For the details, the book retails
for a trivial amount.
I suppose, but then who knows
that it's because he didn't count
Author notes: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Men_in_a_Boat