They haven’t come for many weeks
the men who mow my grass
at level 4 in lock-down too
they haven’t had the chance
to venture out,
the price too high,
their bubble they can’t break
but honestly paspalum gunk
is hard for me to take.
They haven’t come for many weeks
my pup won’t rest her butt
on grass that touches up her tush
for her it’s way too much.
She whirls and twirls
then whirls some more
most gingerly she squats
but moments later yaps and yelps
‘sif bitten on the bot.
They haven’t come for many weeks
and with each passing day
my yard a meadow has become
soon I’ll be baling hay
then when they come
the men who mow
I’ll tell them it’s okay,
my lawn became a meadow but,
I’m leaving it that way.
Categories:
paspalum, hope, humorous,
Form: Rhyme
Low Tide
Act 1: Sand
I remember
The hushed curve of a wave
Spooling around my heart
Unfurled strength
Melting to the rhythm of a calming storm
Passing across the damp reflection of evening sand
Act 2: Moon
I remember
The fickle breath of foam
Whispering against my back
Honey-stained Paspalum
Basking in slivers of bleached sun
Leaping across the sails of a thousand ships
Act 3: Stars
I remember
The depth of an ocean’s sigh
Reaching refuge along the shoreline
A chandelier of stars
Paying homage to the distant pull of a planet
Soaked in swirls of methylene blue
Categories:
paspalum, beach, beauty, earth, happiness,
Form: List