Pensile clouds of a new Truth loom.
With them are selected versions of
Extinct grief.
Looking through the yellowness of a
Dog’s eyes, this aura of Truth, pervasive,
Sours my palate.
What say the bulletins and tabloids
In their speech potency?
Have they recoiled on the sudden encroachment
Of stale seas
Or have they rolled out drums for Haley’s ROOTS?
Between Kamby Bolongo of watery essence
And the forested, warm plains of Juffure, ROOTS!
And drums fashion themselves out for Kinte,
Who must tap gently the face of the drum
For earthly summons.
From sinuous, valleysome frontiers backward,
We yodel loud,
Fronting bands of ROOTS.
Realm of humankind wheedled in reset,
Homeland beray, lull to beset,
Scrawling the parchment to a keyset,
Xenophobia in callousness,
Dearth to darn the clout concord.
Orness synergy alliance the terrene.
Berth errand the rassle office,
Commissions detach the hassle orifice...
Pensile the ensile spirits,
Circumscissile recoiled resiliency,
Nuanced tensile expansionism...
Normalise a new normal,
Order the prime heart to bloom,
Taper our united dreg to blossom...
Blight in frights,
Dight the twinight against any affright,
Infinity within.
Golden sun rays warm the fields as greens fade
Hum speech breath revolve deep and silence lace
rustling reddish, tan, golden leaves astray
emerald green garden lawn looking up
gnarly old tree of deep raw umber shades
mid gold swaying canopy autumn leaves
highest out stretched bough grasp the fraying rope
overseer over the aged tire swing
In savor peace caught swaying sole pensile
An old somber tire swing rotting away
Espy hushed cries for human yielding wings
legs over tires edge on ardent warm days
12/17/2016
For the contest: Form B
Sponsored By; Broken Wings
Walking across dry green fields grass knee high so rich so very dark,
I lifted my scythe high and it swept over the meadow with sharp ease,
Cutting the perennial clover as it filled the air with a sweet scent,
A razor sharp scythe dropping the yellow goats beard and dog daisies.
The dreaded scythe chopped the chervil under hedges, trees and fences,
Next the yellow rattle, the lotus and beautiful quake-grass and poas,
The day moved on quickly so down went the fescues and rough cocksfoot,
In the rank grounds, the wild oats and darnels by the small waysides.
Nothing would be left as the red pensile panicles and covered foxtails,
The timothy fell with their spikes on the edge of shaded wood forests,
And the light air-grass and the purple burnet all through the meadows,
I took my shirt off the twig of a tree and me and the scythe went home.
Walking across dry green fields grass knee high so rich so very dark,
I lifted my scythe high and it swept over the meadow with sharp ease,
Cutting the perennial clover as it filled the air with a sweet scent,
A razor sharp scythe dropping the yellow goats beard and dog daisies.
The dreaded scythe chopped the chervil under hedges, trees and fences,
Next the yellow rattle, the lotus and beautiful quake-grass and poas,
The day moved on quickly so down went the fescues and rough cocksfoot,
In the rank grounds, the wild oats and darnels by the small waysides.
Nothing would be left as the red pensile panicles and covered foxtails,
The timothy fell with their spikes on the edge of shaded wood forests,
And the light air-grass and the purple burnet all through the meadows,
I took my shirt off the twig of a tree and me and the scythe went home.