Florid banshees recoiled, neck and hankering sneer.
A succinctly exuberant suggestion when selective.
Came on, fell flat with laconic ornamentation.
A miniature jaunt, interment; glove comparted.
Pin-striped foxtails attuned tune maddening clairvoyants.
Precisely predisposed, wine-flavored latten tobaccos.
A wooden-tipped juxtaposition, stilling waisted.
Bygone midge nonguarded, slunk olive drabbing on bayou.
Thicken handkerchief lightly dabbing brow.
Darkness entrapment, fiat practice gymnastics.
Money management, coinage magnet, honored in mathematics.
Backflipping,
Backtracking,
Backpacking.
Super-Soaker moisture, quickie; quickly, socks on prickly.
Sloped incline, inside Mount Saint Helens' Slip 'n Slide.
Categories:
foxtails, dedication, devotion, endurance, extended
Form: Imagism
Weeds~ what a nightmare!
the pesky, bristly mean seeds;
prickly spikelets
Categories:
foxtails, 10th grade, 12th grade,
Form: Haiku
And
Goat heads, cockleburs, and cow pies.
These are the things
we live with, in the country.
Some you step on,
some travel in your clothes,
and some stink.
Foxtails.
That sounds so beautiful.
They are terrible.
They cling and bring pain
to the feet of dogs.
Don't get me started...
on mosquitoes and blood-sucking vermin...
that find us all in the day,
and in the night.
Yet we still go outside.
We still want to touch,
trees, and flowers...
and lay in the grass.
Ticks stay away,
fleas go somewhere else.
This is the best place,
to be calm and set the pace...
backward, or at least slowdown.
Chores make the time pass without notice.
Tired muscles and an achy back
replace the need to be concerned...
about the small things.
Yet inside,
peace reigns.
Even at the cost of life's
tiny inconveniences,
there is a payment of joy,
that only He can dole out.
Categories:
foxtails, adventure, christian, creation, garden,
Form: Free verse
On hot field days they wave to the flowers,
And matching grasshoppers climb their stems,
As pink butterflies visit in the lazy hours,
While their sly namesake doesn't notice them!
Frequently a chorus of crickets can be heard,
As they sway gracefully under Moon and Mars.
When beauty is spoken without a single word,
Like a distant sound of summer night guitars!
Categories:
foxtails, beautiful, butterfly, moon, music,
Form: Rhyme
Thoughts on California's drought
The palpitations in this wash basin
Do not belong to the wind or the sky,
Or even the sea
They are the eager feet of children
Surveying and searching the
Scorned land for
Foxtails and lady bugs.
The color is washing away
From the memories of this artist
Now he sketches children
Because it reminds him
Of hope.
Categories:
foxtails, art, color, environment,
Form: ABC
Walking across dry green fields grass knee high so rich so very dark,
I lifted my scythe high and it swept over the meadow with sharp ease,
Cutting the perennial clover as it filled the air with a sweet scent,
A razor sharp scythe dropping the yellow goats beard and dog daisies.
The dreaded scythe chopped the chervil under hedges, trees and fences,
Next the yellow rattle, the lotus and beautiful quake-grass and poas,
The day moved on quickly so down went the fescues and rough cocksfoot,
In the rank grounds, the wild oats and darnels by the small waysides.
Nothing would be left as the red pensile panicles and covered foxtails,
The timothy fell with their spikes on the edge of shaded wood forests,
And the light air-grass and the purple burnet all through the meadows,
I took my shirt off the twig of a tree and me and the scythe went home.
Categories:
foxtails, nature, yellow,
Form: Prose Poetry
Walking across dry green fields grass knee high so rich so very dark,
I lifted my scythe high and it swept over the meadow with sharp ease,
Cutting the perennial clover as it filled the air with a sweet scent,
A razor sharp scythe dropping the yellow goats beard and dog daisies.
The dreaded scythe chopped the chervil under hedges, trees and fences,
Next the yellow rattle, the lotus and beautiful quake-grass and poas,
The day moved on quickly so down went the fescues and rough cocksfoot,
In the rank grounds, the wild oats and darnels by the small waysides.
Nothing would be left as the red pensile panicles and covered foxtails,
The timothy fell with their spikes on the edge of shaded wood forests,
And the light air-grass and the purple burnet all through the meadows,
I took my shirt off the twig of a tree and me and the scythe went home.
Categories:
foxtails, nature, yellow,
Form: Prose Poetry
BY LYDIA BRESCIA JULY 2011
FOXTAIL TRAILS
THE GENTLE WIND TOUCHES FOXTAILS OUTLINING THIS COUNTRY ROAD.
THEY GLISTEN WITH SUNLIGHT POINTING OUT A DIRECTION YET UNTRIED.
LIFE BECKONS LIKE THAT, TO THE UNBEATEN PATH, TO SEE IF WE GET BY
GENTLE URGES ARE TAPPING US, TO SEE IF WE CAN DROP OUR WORRIES AND FLY
.
FOXTAILS HAVE A BAD REP. THEY COME IN SOFT N GREEN, GLIMMERING IN THE SUN
AND BURN, PRICKLY IN THEIR OLD AGE.
NEXT THING YOU KNOW AN UNSUSPECTING ANIMAL HAPPILY GOES BY AND FOXTAIL JUMPS AND HITCHES A RIDE! THE ANIMAL STOPS AND THUMPS UPON ITS’ RUMP
TO SCRATCH THAT FOXTAIL AWAY…WHEREUPON THAT FOXTAIL BURROWS IN THE GROUND TO SLEEP AND DREAM OF ITS’ ONE WONDERFUL RIDE!.
IN THE SPRING A SOFT GENTLE RAIN AWAKENS FOXTAIL FROM ITS’ DREAM, IT GROWS AND GROWS AND POINTS IT’S TOES AND STICKS ITS’ HEAD IN THE WIND !
BY LYDIA BRESCIA JULY 2011
Categories:
foxtails, funny, nature, animal, animal,
Form: Prose Poetry
an icicle
drip, drip, dripping away
slips of spring
sunlight gleams
winter garb cast aside
petticoats flash
rays of gold
glistening on the glen
flicks of foxtails
mewling mouths
nuzzle at their mother
come spring
[“petticoats” in this instance are meant to signify
glistening white snow, hidden beneath gray snow banks,
and exposed suddenly by early spring sunshine.]
Categories:
foxtails, seasons
Form: Haiku