Grey Squirrel

This is a little masterpiece I made while talking to someone on a cold afternoon.

Grey Squirrel

Between leaf and tree

Scurry squirrel

Nut. Nut.

Nuts,

To you.

Haiku looking outside

star weeds splay across
budded branches rise above
gray path cuts sideways

They are nothing more
then the quintessence of dust
their blue sorrows, down to their hair
nothing more than empty words
dust grew falanges, forming solid
I’ll paint thinckly on these shapes
Big fat lumps of dirty cobwebs
a colored snowman, Mary’s father
Descendent’s famous and relived

partner exercise given certain words

In the Mood

that disgusting mean bitch
i could choke on her saliva and drooling spit

there’s no hope for relief
my anguish is absolute, I have the belief

that her luminous eyes will call me back down
from anger to joy, my smile from a frown

her fabulous silken fur
who knew wagging tails could act demure

lulling her back into my grace
forgetting ruined shoes in gazing once more upon her face

emotion words, changing tones

Persephone, cotton candy

Mountains trump the molehills
the obstacles in the way of hope

to achieve brief grandeur
acknowledged as on top

not just any old Moe
with a snow cone and sunny grin

buying cotton candy for his sweetheart
i am here to win

dreams rest in a sharp shooting target
a toy for my fan, the target as my testament

my dream descended to nightmare
I missed, missed completely.

Acid Rain

the rain in Spain fell mainly
on the endless plains reduced to
tinkling grains dripping through
my brain soaking choruses
the bane of my social mores
mainly when asked what political
policies I own

Favorite food moment

clean plate, time frosted cold glass expecting
reconnecting of a savoured past
abergene dreams in going out style
simmering reminisces, waiting on the stove
hunger for garlic infusion to surface
remembering to share sauced chicken over white cloth
a time thought lost, a recipe reunited
a prior favorite, stirred up again

widow by the sea

she turned from the sea in dismay
seawater crashed up, forcing in sound
vibrant anger of perpetual living waves
smooth cool seduction of calming movement
a treachery of indifferent emotion
stimulating only fear, where could she fly?
home is proximity, keeping sanctity in awareness

Feverfew

Out the window down into feverfew
On petals perched, butterflies there stand
quivering globes of honey-tinted dew
drop sweetly to the cracks of a hand
dusk throws a net onto our yard,
catching insects in their upward ascent
the muddled sound of cicadas is marred
the white stretches stark, her back is bent
to celebrate by picking
the sorrow of blinking

Prose to Poetry- narrative

I thought it was right at the time
A recipe for success
He looked at me through tousled hair
His smile did the rest

I think I gave him too much credit
Built up my trust
Drawn like a bee to honey
He was only in lust

Seeing small and blond
He believed his penis and confessed
I was wrong again
To recover, I need some kind of recompense