Tis the Season
Poppin jays flies
on Neon lights
Hanker don't whisper !
As the Mighty Oak sways
The lavee squirms forward
running obtuse
The dancers pontificate thought
lancing the proverbial boil
As an afterthought
The pied pipers never pay
The rotten beams surrender
pulsating dead energy
beyond the fold of avarice
Tis the season of Arbeit
Copyright © Antony Glaser | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment