A metallic muzzle
breaking through a marshy bog;
an unlikely find out here
in the rain-riddled moor.
I finger dig the soft ground,
reveal the snout of a short barrel,
clay clogged, emerging -
haul out the rest,
a revolver!
Who hid or threw this?
This ‘who done it’ out here
in the wind-swept nowhere.
Bluing worn away,
steel beneath dented and pitted,
firing pin corroded
yet heavy still
with unknowable sin.
A metallic muzzle
breaking through a marshy bog;
an unlikely find out here
in the rain-riddled moor.
I finger dig the soft ground,
reveal the snout of a short barrel,
clay clogged, emerging. -
haul out the rest,
a revolver!
Who hid or threw this?
This ‘who done it’ out here
in the wind-swept nowhere.
Bluing worn away,
steel beneath dented and pitted,
firing pin corroded
yet heavy still
with unknowable sin.
All of these broken half eaten crayons
walls decorated with mindless nibbles;
Haul out the past of the remodeled house
recall a time of free spirited scribbles;
Trash, treasure that was left to fade
crash erased such carefree lines;
Cash left a masterpiece in rubble
flash forward nothing left that shines.
This bowl of lobster shells
looks very pretty
and yet so sad.
The bright red carcasses
all cracked and emptied out
have served me well
with their luscious innards
of tender sweet flesh
unctuous with brine and butter
that sated me
and gratified
my deep-sea desires
for this ultimate
New England joyance
on this
muggy Summer day.
If I had
any ambition left,
I'd dump these
scarlet remnants
into a big ol' pot
and toss in
onions,
bay leaves
and peppercorns
for a savory
perfumed stock.
But for now
I'm glued
to my chair
happily lobster drunk
and in a buttery haze
and licking my
salty fingers
for any last residue
of that
resplendent crustacean
now reduced
to a heap of shells
in an old glazed bowl
on a lemon-yellow afternoon
somewhere on the coast
wondering how long
I can last
until the feeling
comes again
and I don my old stained bib
and haul out
the nutcracker and pick
and get the butter drawn
for another
Homarus americanus
adventure
and find myself
staring down
a new warm mound
of cracked and emptied
lobster shells.
It's the big day of the big yard sale
Where every thing must go
There was much to much to haul out to the front
So I opened up the home
There were gobs of people everywhere
Wandering around with arms packed full
I'm making money hand over fist
This idea was really cool
You see my neighbors came to me with their front door key
And asked if I'd watch Binkie their cat
While they spent a few days away, I said sure what the hey
So they showed me where everything Binkie was at
While they were gone Binkie got bored
He missed his masters who were out of town
I thought a yard sale would be just the thing, Binkie purred that'd be neat
And of course it brought Binkie's good mood back around
Now before you start thinking bad thoughts of me
And wonder how anyone could sell everything they had
I want you to know I had a slight twinge of guilt
Right before I sold Binkie the cat
Bye, Bye Binkie Bye, Bye ;0)
When the sunshine burns off the morning dew
And the flowers unfold and smile
Then we gnomes will be ready to do what we must do
We'll prepare for the party with style
We'll get out our scythes and trim a patch of lawn
Haul out our toadstool chairs and bunting
We've been ironing the table covers since the break of dawn
We find it far more fun than fishing and than hunting
The food will be delightful, as we've made a special stew
With peaches, garlic mushrooms and mint sauce
The drink will be amazing, as it's quite a special brew
Made with just the same ingredients, of course
We've party games a-plenty, yes we've thought of everything
There's a four-leaved clover in amongst the shamrocks
We'll need some luck as the tables like to wander off and sing
But we’ll supervise while dozing on our hammocks
We've invited all the fairies and the pixies and the elves
You're welcome too - to miss it would be tragic
And though the goblins are not coming - they will entertain themselves
They have lent to us their iPod and some magic
Written 23rd June 2016 for this contest... http://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry_contests/little_people_8034
The malls are decorated
And happy voices sing.
It's Christmas in the Northwest,
Let all the churchbells ring.
We haul out our umbrellas
And put our slickers on.
We dash between the showers
To get our shopping done.
There are Santas on each corner
As perfect gifts we chase.
We sacrifice our coifed hairdos,
A smile on every face.
It's Christmas in the Northwest
From mountain top to vale.
The raindrops won't deter us
From one more Christmas sale.
won 4th place
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