oh, how perfectly you drape
swaths of moonlite on your shape
now you've chosen its soft blue
for this night of something ... new
you've decided we're too single
that we need fresh ways to mingle
so, if you'll grant me the dative
methinks we should get creative
I'm hoping these night sweats'll
find our limbs wound to a pretzel
you and I, one limber body
twisted close, and rather knotty
could it be, we're going too far
with this night of karma sutra?
still, the shapes have just begun
and we're having so much fun
though I think our best positions
come between, in the transitions
for like ALL in life we savor ...
it's the tasting ... not the flavor.
Copyright © 2018 Gregory Richard Barden
What gave me away?
Was it my sway?
Or my long limber limbs
Like glasses with broken rims?
Oh sure, wind has its way with me,
But broken or uprooted, I’ll never be.
Neither short, not tall, could be my description.
My strength and elasticity, a better depiction.
Cry me a river is your first hint,
And for a second; I’m easily bent.
Not a flower, or a bush, but green if you please.
In a botanical listing, I’m found under trees.
What I am, I will proudly bellow.
I’m known to most as a weeping willow.
I used to be able to outrun my puppy, not anymore, not anymore
Moving with arthritis in both ankles is a drag; I am kind of a bore
I am seventy-two, but some days I feel ninety-four, and I’m not kidding
The devil will probably come by to see if I will do his bidding
I am closer to death than life these days, but I remember the past
When I was limber, cute, sexy, sassy, some might say a bit fast
Those memories keep me going, I like to dream, so I am great at naps
I am not playing racquetball or pickle ball, and I no longer run laps
Many things I used to do daily I have given up on completely
My house used to be tidy, nowadays it is barely a tiny bit neatly
I would love to get back to the good life, when I had the energy of six
But here I sit, in a recliner, out in the country, in a yard full of sticks
My teeth are cracking, for I grind them and I don’t mean a little bit.
At the drop of a Kleenex, I might scream or throw a tantrum fit
My frustration is high, for I remember when life was gloriously grand.
Now I sit here, pining for my old life, eyes traveling from TV set to land.
hello brother,
irish hearing of translations
in american creole we leave, ears are not left nor right
they perk and grass talls to a tickling memory for running up to the hairs of trigger
trigger is limber and frequiently as december
bestow herselfish visits when attendants of time
dare not his fender
his fender glides in names as thumper
neither care to scamper yet both shall parent springs
Air conditioner is loud and steady
Wind chimes prove the wind is ready
Balmy spring day bringing us March
Limber and lithe, not a bit of starch
Dogs stare at me on this lazy day
Loving the country in an appreciative way
Not a single sound, no tweet, chirp or peep
The kind of day I could do a lot of serious sleep
how to be
while i am offer out of your tongue
spoken past
today no cast
mold in the dye
laughter and decaying denile
locked in a single soaring, owner
prevailing gumption
detailing winded engine
haunts of limber war
hauling the desert core
i seek and ask of neither bother
nor trolling auctioneers limbs
in a midst, a twist and astair
Statues, iconoclasts love to destroy
Toppling monuments brings them great joy
Keeps them all limber
As they shout ‘Timber’
Columbus crashed down saying ~ ‘Land ahoy’
.
imagine i
enter'n the dance studio
click
click
click
click click
click
'tweren't mine timb'z
click'n
'twere mine
lumix
'bout hern
limber
lanky lean lithe limber lollygagging Leo loved a little lampoonery
loving lasting laughter, leisurely learning lemonade lessons
lickety split, laundering little leagues of lithographs in lime
There once was a girl named Theresa.
She looked like the Mona Lisa.
She didn't fight it.
Because she resided
In the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
There was a girl named Theresa.
She thought she had amnesia.
She couldn't remember
Why she was so limber.
She had taken too much anesthesia.
.
if
'gain my
upper
and
lower
lips
'bout her
twisted
slips
'tiz not her
legz
'tiz 'bout my
tongue
'tiz
'bout hern
limber
whisp
Written: May 03, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I witnessed the dawn seraphic sapphire spike,
I marveled at the world's exquisiteness strike.
The colors shimmered in the first light glow,
Cleansed by nature's tears of the night flow.
The cracks and scratches of each passing day,
Rest below the morning mist, silky display.
Tattered torn edge of an aging landscape,
Blessed and healed by the kiss of dawn escape.
These scenes have opened my eyes before,
However, their insight remains in explore.
A truth, now revealed, from within my heart,
After haze, the sun's limber rays impart.
After sorting amid the dust life's sand,
An array of the exceptional grew at hand.
A solitary grain amid circular void space,
Never did I predict leaping ways in a trace.
I cast my heart aside into the ocean,
An indigo scope of a replica of devotion.
Brimming with tremendous vision,
A shimmering journey toward emotion.
I let out a sigh and gave in to its might,
The glowing streams of sacred insight.
Permeate me with an empathic fervor,
Gaze is off rays of a sempiternal usurper.
A thought flew by
I tried to snatch it
But from the air
I just could not grab it
Next floats an image
along the banks of my brain
Yet when I try to recall it
it slips down the drain
Then ‘fore my eyes a rainstorm
furious its pellets, slit-slanted its form --
O, to trap her lightning in a bottle
yet though I lunge, she's going full throttle…
Seems I just haven’t much luck
with fanciful visions I would pluck
My lithe and limber fingers gnarl up…
Stop saying ‘Timber’ ~ they’re stuck
Its sun is brilliant bright and bonny bold,
a lustrous light, largesse in satin sheen.
Intake of breath sensory manifold,
for a warm, welcoming autumnal scene.
Aurora-colored leaves paint the timber
where mountaintops all dress in ermine capes.
Watch crimson clover wave its arms limber
and mighty pines show off their slender shapes.
Delight in unique season's sights and smells,
wintersweet, artic polemonium.
Rejoice in grandeur of the season's spells.
It’s all pumpkin spice pandemonium.
For all God's tireless efforts let us praise
with appreciative heart and voice upraise.
Skinny floral Christmas elf with eyes so green
Your attitude and holly is totally and fully seen
We marvel at your body, so lithe and loose
You are skinnier than a wiped-out chicken goose.
Skinny floral Christmas elf with your attitude cute
We don’t know what to say, you are pretty couth.
We see your skip and hop and your limber bod.
You are more like us than we thought, not so very odd.
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