A leonine sun of August's stately presence,
see the maple and oak leaves,
no longer a fresh green of youth.
Children will put their beach pails away,
when September's boughs drop acorns.
It's the closing chapter of the carefree months,
when sweethearts on the moonlit boardwalks
part.
I enjoyed iced coffee on the patio,
when the newly-mowed lawn days set us
to daydreaming,
watching wrens, bluebirds, sparrows,
in avian freedom,
my playing grandchildren soon will be
back in school.
Time for harvesting another summertide's
memories-
an August goodbye,
and hello to the aging man of autumn.
"Custody Blues in C Minor"
(Disaster and Love as a Single Father)
One coffee mug I purchased had a cracked lip, A plastic spoon, and half a bed,
And the echo of her "I’m done with you"
Still knocking around in my head.
She gave me a car seat to keep. And a drawer full of onesies and grief,
And now I rock my girl to sleep
to my own disbelief's sound.
She had dreams about the chandelier, I had a cough and a nightlight. I boil noodles with the baby in my arms,
Tryin’ not to piss God off.
Sometimes I wish for bourbon,
Sometimes I wish for death—
But then them little baby snores
Take the fire outta my breath.
There’s love in frozen waffles,
And hope in diaper pails—
Yeah, I lost the war of roses,
But I’m still standing in the hail.
Ain’t no lullaby for heartbreak,
Ain’t no handbook for regret—
But I’ll raise this girl on gravel roads
And pay off love’s damn debt.
with mouths smudged purple
we plunk grapes into our pails . . .
sangria sunrise
I'm going to submit the words
the words that drive my daily thoughts
past wastelands of dirty laundry
and heaped up dishes that scream out
wash me while the water's hot
we're important, writing's not.
I can not seem to find the time
for sweeping all the dirt and grime
when all my thoughts reign far supreme
while bathroom thrones remain unclean.
priorities remain unclear
it's writing that I hold so dear.
But many women's efforts fail
their thoughts lie drowned in mopping pails
their words get lost in flying dust
and sensing this, I really must
submit the words, before they're lost
submit the words, at any cost.
jiggling juggernaut jockeyed judo
katie’s Korean kitties killed with kudos
lively llamas listened, learning Latin
Mischievous miscreants misused satin
Needless nimble noodles kneaded themselves
Opulence and opals were seen in land of elves
Paralyzed parlor poodles paraded past purple pails
Quarrelsome queens quickly collected quick quails
Our playgrounds have faded
swings stilled, sandboxes unfilled
Where are the shovels and pails ~
replaced by profits and sales
As mother watched
a ball rolled on friendly sand,
red and white and blue and yellow,
through a thoughtful tearful haze
a forest of blurred legs
in parched pursuit -
shovels and pails dug forts,
they buried her feet in its walls
laughing...
While a mortar round struck
in Pacific sand
olive drab entrenching tools
dug a hole to hide -
they buried their friends
in its walls; crying...
Back home, stars of Gold
wept on windows where
tracks of tears
traced so much more
than raindrops.
Mothers left hugging memories
-wishing a kiss and band aid
could heal the wound
of a broken heart
A piece of brown crap metal
What could I do with it?
I did not know, but I knew I would have to try
Since it was free, I lugged it home
Seashells with holes
Discarded by a button factory
Thousands of them, a small mountain
I conjure some ideas and take two pails full home
My parents were both depression babies.
My siblings and I take anything we can get.
Threadbare materials can become rags.
We use it until it disintegrates.
Fabric pieces are saved for future possibilities
To line a pillow, to patch jeans, to make a quilt
Slivers of lace are never discarded
We can decorate doll clothes out of them
As soon as we got to the county fair
The country odor got through my nose hair
Coz above some milk pails
We encountered cow tails
Which filled our senses with their dairy-air
It’s apple picking time.
Let’s to the orchard go.
Rise up, my sleepyhead.
You must not move too slow.
I will grab a ladder
and put it in the truck.
You can gather our pails
to use for what we pluck.
To fill our bushels full
with apples green and red
is our goal, so hurry up
and get out of the bed.
I’ll show you, son of mine,
how apple pickin’s done,
We need to get there with
the rising of the sun.
That’s the way we did it
when Grandpa was alive.
This thing he so enjoyed
I’m eager to revive.
I saw the other day
that many apple trees
looked like they were bursting.
We’ll pluck their fruit with ease.
We’ll have a merry time,
and later you’ll know why.
Once we’re home I’ll bake you
a yummy apple pie.
Sweet and juicy apples
we can eat every day.
One a day, don’t you know,
keeps the doctor away!
Leftovers we can’t eat
as applesauce I’ll can.
I’ll make pies too for friends
and you, my little man!
Wild grapes
plump and juicy
we plucked along the lane -
my sisters and I, carrying
large pails
Dusk’s sky
turned violet.
From far away we heard
our grandmother calling us to
supper
The night
bled a wine hue
as swinging our pails, we
ran with glee on that sweet day of
purple
April 17, 2023
for Sotto Poet's Traditional Cinquain Contest
Another day in paradise,
The sun is shining bright.
A sea breeze gently blows,
And there's not a cloud in sight.
With volleyball on the beach,
And surfers riding waves.
There's coral on the reef,
And canoers in the caves.
Boats skim the horizon,
And the wind fills their sails.
There's contests building castles,
And the sand fills their pails.
My toes are in the water,
While bikinis pass me by.
The waiter brings my drink,
And I release a heavy sigh.
When the sun begins to set,
All the people gather round.
We watch it slowly sink,
And never make a sound.
As the stars come out to play,
And the moon reflects the sun.
It's the ending of the day,
But the party's just begun.
Upon this twilight eve a full moon-lite night appeared,
Crackling leaves with mounds of bags and children jumping with glee.
As graves flew open with ghostly sights witches began their brewing,
with stark black eyes and fiery sparks her sight glowing within.
As the smoke rose from the kettle below ghost and goblins appeared,
then cutout pumpkins with scary faces as the children ran in fear.
Begging for candy going door to door and sounds of doorbells ringing,
their faces hidden behind their masks of evil with laughter and giggling.
The night went on and their pails filled with candy and hungry tummy's,
They did not know their parents' eyes shining at the sight of chocolate.
Searching through these pails of candy the children's lot got smaller,
for the parents ate the children's spoils only to get a sick tummy.
The witch knew her brew would end up in the hands of thief’s,
giving the children a goodnight sleep with dreams of gobbling there,
Candy Treats
Not For Conest
A cup runneth over surely prevails
Above dining table midst angst of dearth
Oh, bountiful supply that never fails
Since God pours always blessings with grace-worth.
Evidence of miracles’ prevalence
A cup runneth over surely prevails
Smiting unbelief of great turbulence
For the Lord grants gracious provision-pails.
Against scarcity that grievously ails
Afflicting giving and sharing gladness
A cup runneth over surely prevails
While the Almighty proves His faithfulness.
Trusting the Creator, wondrous life Source
My heart thanks Him, and His compassion hails
As He fills me to say along hard course…
“A cup runneth over* surely prevails.”
*Psalm 23:6 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
July 23, 2022
Tempers always flare,
Few care.
Lawlessness bares
Indifferent stares.
Compassion leaves,
Lying heaves.
Crime explodes;
Paves broken roads.
Self becomes king
Carnality springs.
Death is courted,
No grace recorded.
Joy is distant
Revenge is instant.
The unthinkable breeds
More despicable deeds.
Life’s not regarded,
Deliberately discarded.
Rage finds a haven
Peace; a cave in.
Steep is the spiral
Contagious and viral.
Evil: unsatisfied
Despair amplified.
Indifference prevails
And loving pails.
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