I wrote this at the last minute.
You know,
the minute before, I raced out the door.
I scrawled it out until the paper tore.
The thoughts I wanted to convey
about another hurried, scrambled day.
I spilled and splattered it on the page.
I was Jackson Pollock in a frantic rage.
My muddy, muddled words never tired.
My rutty, riddled will never expired.
This scratch was never worth any cash.
This paper crumpled and tossed in the trash.
On second thought, I recovered the script.
The meager text told a tale I never gripped.
I wrote this at the last minute.
You know,
the minute before, I raced out the door.
Categories:
rutty, fun, happy, humor, hyperbole,
Form: Couplet
Lucy's heart silk was spun on the loom of God.
a polio angel breaking free from poverty's claw~
Graceful even in that metal legged chrysalis
sowing rows of hope for the meek and faithless~
Fate taunting her steps with ripples of black ice.
navigating rutty avenues with a Duchenne smile~
Never a cross word for hordes of non-believers
despite the maelstrom of takers and deceivers~
She was glimmer in a mountain topped with grit.
with petrichor soul of a giver-born to be cross fit~
Categories:
rutty, dedication,
Form: Rhyme
You keep your heart clamped-
chained up
with a missing key-
because you threw it
beneath the rutty soil,
earth's forgotten treasure-
beneath the spell-cast water
where you can breath
and keep the stepping stones apart,
not afraid to run ahead-
knowing she'll trip-
chasing your fragile cleverness-
but she doesn't know where it begins
she doesn't know you took her heart,
you took many.
And each on their own stone-
some half sunk
some drilled the core with hatred
but one a step behind you,
and you glance behind a smile-
your sweet sacred, distinct smile.
And then you take a leap before you,
find the next victim,
leaving me,
heartless.
Yet this all happened before,
you clever, clever criminal.
Genius or Criminal?
Categories:
rutty, devotion, love,
Form: Free verse
How thin are master’s wishes
when he leaves the leather leash behind!
How every rutty road opens into woods
pungent with smells a human couldn’t fit
into the nooks of his narrow nose.
How slow two booted feet climb the hill
when four feathered legs can catch a cloud
on the fly. How soft the cry of master,
so far behind, lamenting that he can’t
catch April; that spring won’t bide.
Categories:
rutty, animals, nature, seasons,
Form: Free verse