she stepped out of the wagon
a vision in purples and pink
my tail was dragg’n
I could barely think
she was a vision
this Bohemian queen
one of the prettiest maidens
I had ever seen
I stared at the speaker
Mr. T.J. Grimes
Do you always speak
your stories in rhymes?
there is an old codger named Grimes
goes to the beach at summer time
he sits in his chair
and can’t help but stare
at all the young women’s tan lines
Betty Boop could not live forever, for naught
But this new version was a bit scary I thought
Her face was green, she had stitches too
I am a ghoul, she informed me, a bit of a boo
Never having met a ghoul before,
I turned and ran outside, straight out the door
She chased me up a hill and back two times
She smelled like lemons, mold, dirt and grimes
I did not stop running until I woke up with a gasp
Relieved that my time with Betty Boop Ghoul was past.
Windows blink.
Someone’s still awake,
counting what never adds up.
The billboard’s face glows through the haze,
selling hope to those who can’t afford it.
Clouds crawl like old memories,
stretching their shadows
across the quiet of the soup line.
Rain begins, soft as loose change.
It never reaches the roots.
The sky eats gold again,
and no one seems surprised.
~Brent R. Grimes
yellow leaves hang like old flyers
for bands that broke up decades ago
orange veins split
along the cold ground’s scars,
last color before the gray takes hold
a cool breeze
threads the season’s last breath
through busted porch screens
now the country coughs again
through exhaust and empty cabinets,
through plastic flags
flapping over pawnshops
still—those yellow leaves,
they don’t quit easy
~Brent R. Grimes
I fasten my seatbelt,
Remembering the Testament
I had scribbled —
The leanest Testament ever.
In it I had written,
Among other tattered rubbish?
I have nothing
Naked I came
Naked I shall fly away.
Seated by the window,
I borrowed courage from
The wings of frightened birds.
With one grunt of mechanical breath,
My feet squelched off the grimes of the
Soil,
And I befriended the skies,
My heartbeat louder than drums of war.
It falls with grace.
Metallic bawls hail the strength of zinc roofs.
At the mercy of the thatch,
Drops drip from needle points of skeletal
Palm fronds.
Particles of rain descend on thresholds
Among dewed terrains.
The petrichor befriends the atmosphere,
Caressing limpid warmth with floating cold.
Lightning, a white dancing Anaconda, races with speed,
Filling the tenebrous plains with lights of hope.
Troubled skies ululate through the power of thunder.
I always recline on that liquid voice!
Rainmakers cream their palms
And roast fresh leaves of
Epochal petals
Plucked from somnolent trees.
Bubbles, green and full of life, puke,
Filling up the mouths of burning woods.
Grey darkness suggests the pleasant wars of
May through October,
When distant wayward drops
Trickle before the deafening deluge.
I hail the blandishments of July
For the society of fattened yams and the
Worthy tendrils —festooned confetti of ceremonial
Harvests.
Droughts yawn in vain when the attitude of
Wet seasons befriends the skies,
Yielding fecund grimes that grace the soil.
"I'm a sucker for fries. It's definitely one of my biggest vices. My biggest savory vice for sure." - Shenae Grimes
So many tasty foods there are with salty or spicy flavor.
A cheeseburger or pizza are what Americans mostly savor.
Various ways with potatoes – stuffed, mashed, or fried up greasy!
Oh, and those comfort carbs. Make those pastas saucy and/or cheesy.
Really creamy soups, egg rolls, tacos and burritos I love too.
Yes, sweets are great, but popcorn tops MY list. How about you?
Somewhere down the road we pass
Under sun's heat, drops amass
Sweat and tears we blast
First kept then cast
Under the Moon's hex that was
Journey along the road we surpass
Under the bridge, jubilation of wrasse
Above our shoulders we carry the mass
Somewhere down the road we pass
Through the wide and crooked roads are crasse
Rubbles spewed by winds on stained glass
Up the road of heights is a watch glass
Down the road we seize grimes of brass
Then lie down on beds of hushed grass
Somewhere down the road we pass
Aldeburgh's George Crabbe
was clearly quite a lad
With inventive narrative verse so fine
used by Brittain in Peter Grimes
I've used up nearly all the primes of my life,
Heard all the whistles, bells, and chimes of my life,
And traced the seasons and the times of my life
Through the ambiances and climes of my life.
The squandered nickels and the dimes of my life,
The acts of goodness and the crimes of my life,
The dark despairs and bright sublimes of my life,
The loves, the laughs, the grimes, and slimes of my life,
The noisy words and pantomimes of my life
Make up the reasons and the rhymes of my life.
Author's note: This piece, dear readers, is, if you will, a sort of sequel to "The Seasons of My Life"
In the clock the man is Red.
Play on Deadly Sands for years...
Tick-tock: bloody bleak son's!
Tick-tock: Humanity is DEAD.
Wading into time’s
Tide, wiping off the grime
In the days of the black flood...
In seasons of deep crimson thunder...
Heads full of blue white fire burn...
The iron chrome that covers glass rocks
Cracks crazy fractures run!
Dirty clock's with broken chimes
Hides in dim memories of faded grimes
Jaded memories…
something plays.
Little lies are buried in violet crimes.
Sundials are jagged
Realities blood spilled
It washes from dry years
While souls
...wander through tick-tocks
...of ancient grandfather clocks!
His name was Tom, he was an engineer.
This was not his calling, it is amazingly clear.
He stumbled upon apples at a market one day.
And he said “listen to me, right away!”
There are lost apples, people have not eaten for a hundred years.
I am going to find them, and raise them up, in these mountain clears.
Arkansas blacks, and Rusty Coats that are soft like pears.
Sweet as honey, they will attract all kinds of bears.
Mr. Brown has an orchard, and he is a super sleuth.
He has tracked down many varieties, this is the truth.
An elderly lady led him to the very last Junaluska apple tree.
He now can grow them as well as the Cherokee.
Tom Brown, you are a hero, for your avocation.
We apple pie baking folks are glad you live in our nation.
Thank you for rescuing the Grimes Golden sweets.
That they taste of nutmeg is rather neat!
A-t risk is the whole world,
N-ations are exposed to harm;
G-lobal crisis creates collapse,
E-mploying economic alarm.
L-ife is horribly put at risk,
I-ndividuals are in danger;
C-ontagious jeopardy's dirt
A-pplies the dreaded destroyer.
P-oisonous pandemic's grimes
A-re in remote control and disc;
C-omputer accesories are not spared,
E-very state is put at
R-isk.
Topic: Birthday of Angelica V. Pacer (June 19)
A-trocious ailment applies
R-abid blue instead of pink;
N-otorious nastiness employs
E-pidemic contact and
L-ink.
A-trocious ailment advances
G-erms, grimes, virus, and dirt;
O-nerous outbreak operates
R-ight here on planet earth.
I-nvisible infection implements
L-ethal threat to attack patient;
L-ockdown and quarantine
A-bate the atrocious ailment.
Topic: Birthday of Bro. Arnel A. Agorilla (June 04)
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