(Sonnet / Lipogram) No letter "A"
Blooming buds dispersing sundry perfumes
Mellifluous tunes of ebullient birds
Butterflies come out of their cosy rooms
Soft verdure on verges nibbled by herds
Burbling brooks run under the bulbous dome
Modest cloud-cover with blowing soft wind
Gentle showers dripping down on the brome
The spring's resurgence delights every mind
Pristine life sprouts from the womb of the turf
Your comforting presence nurtures new life
Soft shoots burgeons out of the tough scurf
The joy of Zion unrolled without strife
Spring, the queen of spells on the wheel of time,
Poets cherished their thoughts in its prime clime.
Categories:
brome, spring,
Form: Sonnet
Her big-boned spirit
was a fine-spun sprouting
of prairie brome,
threaded through with engine oil.
Her home was a rickety refuge
for wayward cats.
Upon her tangled porch
poems grew in small pots
muddled with the stale air
of Maui Wowie.
She wrote on the back of her mouth
with cigarette smoke.
Her poems were the rain-filled footprints,
of Jack Kerouac.
She had pronouns after her name.
Her fame became legendary
but only between the gaps in her thoughts.
Her love for possums and racoons
was almost romantic.
Some still write about her ghost
as if she still lived.
Categories:
brome, poetry,
Form: Free verse
She was big-boned. Her spirit
a fine-spun sprouting of prairie brome
threaded through moss and engine block.
Her home was a pine and beatboard camp
for wayward cats.
She would discourse from her tangled porch
where poems grew in small pots
muddled with Ramen noodle and Maui Wowie.
Her life often vacationed to a studio apartment
on the east bank of her right eye.
She wrote on the back of her mouth
with cigarette smoke.
Her poems were the rain-filled footprints,
of Jack Kerouac.
She had pronouns before and after her name.
She wore a local fame, made legendary
by the gaps in her thoughts,
thoughts she shrewdly refused to fill in.
Categories:
brome, poetry,
Form: Blank verse