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Just a few months ago golden grasses waved in the stronger breeze of late summer, a preview of the winds to come. The clover and alfalfa were beginning to bloom, sending a heady scent over the nearby country road and our tiny subdivision just beyond the ridge.
But then the grass became hay--golden and dry--and the strands stirring only when a strong gust accelerated over the newly sawn fields. The baler came and formed the crop into a hundred hay bales or more. Now I gaze across the fields and imagine myself climbing over the five-bar gate and sitting upon one of the bales remembering the last of the summer rays. (Yes, already missing summer)
sun-bleached sentinels
grass sweat trapped in golden coils
memory's dry scent
Life’s a ladder swaying high.
Dice are spinning wild, across the sky.
Some rolls lift me to the sun.
Others drop me, the snake has won.
Still I climb, to what fate may bend—
I’ll play this game until the end.
Ladders rise and snakes descend.
Turn the board and toss again.
Every throw’s a twist of chance,
rise or fall in fortune’s dance.
To rung or coil, I take the spin—
I'm scared; I'm waiting to step in.
Some rungs blaze like golden fire.
Pull me closer, lift me higher.
Some snakes grin with painted eyes.
Drag me down from stolen skies.
Yet even from the ground below,
I’ll roll again; Up I'll to go.
Every square’s a story told.
Every roll for young and old.
Some will break and some will bear.
Some will vanish into the air.
But still I play, for in this game.
Every drop and climb's the same.
Life’s a ladder swaying high.
Dice are spinning wild, across the sky.
Some rolls lift me to the sun.
Others drop me, the snake has won.
Still I climb, to what fate may bend—
I’ll play this game until the end.
Red to black,
Back to back,
In a stack,
Coiled rope.
Then comes yellow,
Friendly fellow,
Warm and mellow,
Skinny scope.
If that red
Should raise his head
And make his bed
A different way,
With saffron song,
She sets upon,
to mingle fawn;
Color of day.
Should that new fright
Then give a bite;
on me insight,
A vein of woe.
The venom course
could drop a horse
a solemn force
would on me crow
And through me spread
Til I'm dead,
from my poor head
take memory back.
And that would be
The end of me,
Away will flee
Red, yellow, black.
The serpent coils
'fore he strikes
piercing hiss
sordid sway
~ fearsome bite
Paranoiacs
flash warnings too
Those who ignore
~ will later rue
loops twine wonderment
clover pops up eye candy-
snails feeds on season
27th March 2021
howmanysyllables.com
Forward no return no reply,
No looking back,
What is up ahead
Why want you talk to me.
Has it all been in my head
Is it my imagination
This is something I dread
Why want you talk to me.
Where do we go from here
How can we move forward
There’s no turning back
Why want you talk to me.
No reply is answered
No return label
No going backward
Why want you talk to me.
Catbird caught
In the coils of the snake
No escape
I love you!
Please save me!
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