eggshells crack ~ hummingbird trills awaken columbine sprouts
Harlequin is moody and sad
Columbine is acting crazy again
His behaviour was extremely bad
Readily accepting part of the blame.
Difficult Columbine plays hard to get
She's furious with his mad antics
Plotting revenge to make him regret
Before long she will have him frantic.
Harlequin decided he would make-up
He bought an expensive bouquet
Columbine looked and muttered yuck
She definitely has "feet of clay".
With his long narrow beak he drank
drawing out nectar from a flower
it was an Eastern Red Columbine,
an Aquilegia wild desire ...
Nature was singing a sweet refrain
sending sunshine to my visitor
with wings spread he extracted,
using a tubular beak and tongue;
He was a welcome guest
inside this beautiful garden
From a latticed gazebo I espied
as he took delight, in every sip
Columbine in the mountains are the palest of blues;
Ours are more intense.
Gentle born ahigh and free
Tougher raised from within a fence.
Blooms match the hue of and reach for the sky,
Elsewhere its polluted, they're more likely to die.
By the highest mountain
Find the coolest breeze.
The most fragrant nectar
invites the buzziest bees.
And the flies of butter and the birds which hum,
Edwin James knew for such sweetness
they all promised to come.
In lowness a wind can blow harsh intoxication,
But closer to God may be heavenly 'proximation.
"Such color" they say, "such strength in powerful hue",
Or perhaps instead energy drawn from pain, ills or rue.
Oh Columbine speak with your pallette what say you?
Is your gift the intense or the Colorado blue?
What is there to gain?
Why do I exist?
What's the plan?
My question is...
...What's my greatness?
What should I sustain,
The bruise of healing rain or pain?
What's the plot,
To all of this?
What's my greatness?
Revelation 5:12
I went to a public school near Denver
(pre-Columbine). School then felt more like home
than home, and the real tests were never
on paper. We were Rocky Mountain grown
and no one gave a what we did at school
as long as we showed up and did our best.
Sometimes friendships didn’t make it out of first period
but our sandwiches were always split 3 ways by lunch.
In the off case it wasn’t, we handled it beyond the track field
next to the pop machine, two fists and a bloody nose,
or a handful of tangled apple-scented hair.
We were never confused about how to settle disputes.
Now they’re all anxiety riddled and scared
wondering if their pop machine runs semi-automatic.
It was 20 years ago…the year was 1999
and we thought the world would change….after Columbine
We hoped something would be done
after children were gunned down with their books
We thought the world would change…
and then came Sandy Hook
And we hoped something would be done
we can’t sit back and watch our children die…
and we thought the world would change
then came Marjorie Stoneman Douglass High…
But nothing has been done…
Today these mass murders persist
as we sadly add El Paso and Dayton to the list.
We should have learned our lesson
that was in that first mass shooting taught…
but after Columbine,
after Sandy Hook…
after Parkland…
we did not.
We like to think we are not a heartless people
although we act just like we are.
At what point do we as a nation say
this has gone too far?
So once again I pray we find a solution…?once again I pray we’re ready draw the line…
so we don’t have to wait another 20 years
after Columbine.
SONGBIRD COLUMBINE, OH MY
Riveting in a garden retreat, a blast
of colorful wings, these petals that sing
on a perch of the sun with a flowery cast
— a chorus line of bluebirds late Spring.
Songbird Columbine, oh my what a tweet.
You embellish my rock garden with love.
I gaze upon your blossomed beak so sweet
Butterflied, you flitter, in Eden’s felicitous cove.
5/7/2018
Dandelions, Tiger Lilies, Bearberries Oh My Contest
Flower - Songbird Bluebird Columbine
Butterflied - because flowers resemble butterflies
That tragic day the school bells tolled
in April nineteen ninety-nine:
the massacre at Columbine,
the rage of Harris and Klebold.
Some say that Harris was a cold
and grandiose young psychopath,
who wished to show the world his wrath:
the rage of Harris and Klebold.
Some say that guns should not be sold.
Some blame it on deep discontent.
Can we predict? Can we prevent
the rage of Harris and Klebold?
That tragic day the school bells told
the rage of Harris and Klebold.
i express my utmost apologies
to whom it may concern
but the families it took its toll
on felt a stinging burn
a world where children cross each other
in combat men still fear
Connecticut is not my brother
but still this is a year
to express our loss
we feel it too
so sad to have to hear
a season cold and i still feel
the scared childish fear
FROM COLUMBINE TO COLORADO
So he gazes at his arsenal with stars in his eyes
as his neighbors see not through his disguise
he lives and breaths all alone
and he has a collection of bloody clothes and bullet ridden bone
he thinks, he ponders and wonders what havoc he can create next
as he can recite Satan's words by chapter and verse
every day his delusions and illusions become worse
as I wonder about this man's psyche and curse
his targets are little children, the elderly and infirm
and this man is literally a human germ
contaminating this earth with bullets and a gun
and he's not happy until his sick agenda is done
so he gazes at his pistols, his rifles and all
waiting for his illness' voice to call
until he's killed and wounded the maniac is not satisfied
and that's why this morning for his victims I cried
© 2012....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
It is not the young men
Distard and disconnect
The chronicler's memory dissect
But some more corporate
And deeper in the grain
As roots of more coming pain.
Cutting through debris
Of postmortem reactions
To hear the high pitch tremors
Of blood chilling screams
Splashing from hopeless lungs
Into spatters of blood
Collecting in the gruesome caricatures
Littered upon the floor
I come face to face with the dread
Of why ... will this happen again?
For who are we
What have become that we do not want to be
And do not know we are
How are we so inflated
To a drivel
Of pursuit
In the large ambiguity of desire?
And children with no moral compass
Denied a feast of value
In their learning
Finds pleasure in the fast
Of belonging.
Only a instinct hoard us together
We are broken
In the hard solitude
Of technological isolation
That entertains
Only an individuality.
I have seen the material dungeon
Sense and sensibility rotting in chain
Hear the children crying
In the selfish wilderness
And the wasteland
Answers Columbine, Columbine.
It was April 20th of 99
That’s when they would commit their crime
The boys had entered the school that day
Ready to kill anyone who got in their way
Thirteen people lost their life
Then they took theirs without strife.
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