While the sky weeps drops of woe
Every child of nature seeks to stow
Layers of warmth against the coming cold,
Children listen to tales told of long ago
Of journeys bold on ships like pearls,
Majestic winds in sails unfurled,
Engulfed with hope of promised gold.
Now winds of cold strip leaves of gold,
Odiously pulling lives from summer ease,
Venom’s cold from mountain tops to seize
Every creature comfort from the sun,
Mayhap you can try to run
Beneath short cold days and long cold nights,
Even huddle in the fire’s light,
Ravenous cold still creeps through holes.
My Heart ~
the pump station of my love,
my affection.
Like petals of a rose—
the fulcrum of my fragrance...
attracting kindred souls to my life,
like bees and butterflies to a bloom.
Rip my heart open—
you won’t find anything else
but goodness and kindness ~
the fabric that clothes my being.
When broken—
the pain is sharp and immense,
like a twisting knife
ripping a soul bare ~
bloodless,
yet endless,
like a drumbeat
without a drummer.
But it can harden—
stony, cold,
devoid of warmth or grace,
vengeful and wicked...
when pierced by a heartless mind.
Then it flows with invisible venom ~
clouding the brain like a purple haze,
killing, maiming...
capable of every evil.
Like roses—
with a range of wildly different scents ~
so is my life: love, hatred, joy—
kindness and wickedness all imbued.
Oftentimes, it sweetly lingers...
other times, it odiously putrefies.
“The moon’s vision of humanity
Was something that it once desired
Tinkle, swoouf, it pondered
As it’s luminescence gazed at its prodigious oceans
The defunct dissection of the body fell into silence as it glanced back
Clish, clash, it wavered
It’s fluorescence gestured odiously
Enraging it’s radiance with envy
Woosh, clasps, oceans grew in his incensed intention
It never had a society that walked on its ground
A place, that humans recall home
stomp, clasp, It thought
Oceans trickled with peril as the moon grew its waves
Slash, sloosh, the clutter that pollutes the water clustered against its weight
The moon then rebounded; remarking the objects
Sling slang, swoosh, oceans sang it's mercy
It’s reminiscence then discerned the cunning truth
“The grass always seems greener on the other side”
The Family Philosophunculist
By Elton Camp
His yearly visits we detest
Our patience put to the test
He’s the worst we ever saw
My obnoxious bro-in-law
Naught that you can name
That’s not his special game
Every subject an expert
Odiously, he’s so curt
None may dare to doubt it
That he knows all about it
He’s to be held in great awe
The smartest we ever saw
How we wish he would desist
The family philosophunculist
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