Once on Cecil Place
fledgling flagstones freckled
like summer faces
in Septembers of taut cypress.
Now neglected planters are urns
for my young ashes,
crypts gaping silent screams.
Blistered doors do not divulge
past secrets,
gravure images are gravel
on a eroding drives.
Fissured streets
are cracked mirrors
reflecting shards of selves.
Time is a slumlord
its seconds a legion
of termites.
I'm a pillar of salt;
I should not have looked.
6/1/17
What Am I leading Up To.
You often will wonder what phrases mean,
Like a little lean or maybe even green;
You should try one on for size,
Or to me it might be a big surprise.
Things are turbulent underneath, not on surface;
Performance was like that of a three ring circus;
You should see me in my great auto gravure;
Compared to today was simple, plain and pure.
Run was made right down the middle
By player found to befit as a fiddle;
There might be some Obama trauma;
Should have ended with death of Osama.
Now new Congress is all nestled down
And word has been spread all over town,
Mighty Seahwaks met there greatest goal,
Which was to end up in the Super Bowl.
Sounds like they are starting a new trend;
When game will be tied at the end;
After so hard each one of them did try,
Pass landed in receiver's hands sent from the sky.
From sky view camera all of it could be seen;
Every player looked like a bouncing bean;
Outright owner whose first name is Tall Paul
Ended up with a big trophy and a game ball.
James Thomas Horn
www.poetrysoup.com
www.story-telling-around-the-world.com