Twilight Time in the City
Hear the hum of the Honda and Hundai,
It’s twilight time in the city.
Yellow boxes empty streams of ants
Into the twilight of the city.
Day care Dads and maudlin Moms
Kiss scrappy little lads and lasses;
Asking their moppets “How were your classes?”
It’s twilight time in the city.
When skyscrapers twinkle their first night lights,
An orange juice sun pours into purple night,
Smells of smoke from outdoor grills
Promising mouth-watering fare to fill.
McDonald’s lines are long for McDinners,
While some are on decks with flutes of wine,
Drones of commuter planes overhead, a sign.
It’s twilight time in the city.
Categories:
moppets, city, imagery,
Form: Rhyme
Six Feet = Three Bricks
Written: by Tom Wright
2/20/03
On winters night our mom would coddle,
keeping moppets warm was quite a trick.
Two feet always got the hot water bottle,
while the other six feet got heated bricks.
Heated and sheathed before finding beds,
neath quilts, that seemed in weight, tons.
With nothing protruding save burr heads,
too young to recognize we were lucky ones.
Categories:
moppets, imagery, life, love, me,
Form: Rhyme
Scarlett thought she was promised permanent security.
Satchels of resilience bound her fragile wrists.
Woodland deities hailed her.
Underworld demons feared her.
The curious townsfolk simply stood in contemplation -
Inviting epee's gleamed in their eyes
as the garden shears, in their hands, smiled.
Scarlett oft pretended she was Joan of Arc.
Threads of meshed titanium webbed her sheltered heart.
Sour Grimm moppets heralded her.
Skeptical fairy godmothers chastised her.
The relentless wheel of innocence spun without interruption.
Persnickety rogues sashayed in dumbed silence -
permitting their sordid counterparts unwelcomed invitations
into a void where reverend satchels are tragically punctured.
Scarlett donned spiked eye patches in her latter years.
Protective velour swatches masking mass and the masses.
Myths and urban legends empathized with her.
Gods and martyrs appropriately buried her.
The dumbfounded spirits circle Scarlett's broken window with raised eyebrows.
Quizzically staring at rotting barrels littered with skeins if shredded satchels -
yards if tainted fibers being hopelessly spun into yet another
dark, forgotten midnight.
Categories:
moppets, irony, sad love,
Form: Free verse