In red, she saunters
Through a field of red poppies:
What a lovely view!
~ Poetictouch
More often, her soul widens
farther than breaths of a moon...
and through irreverent eyes,
she saunters into the ledge of woods
past time's curfew and nobility --
a wanton stroll by this sylph
daring the commoness of old rules--
Twirling along pebbles and sand,
kindling night's liniment glorious
like the flared climb of dusk,
her wildfire spews a wanton blaze ----
fearless like some insolent woman
rising from mediocrity, burning oil
while dragonflies sleep in a lull ;
her navel radiant in the flickering,
feathering night with such
stubborn will...a maverick defying
traditional anthems of her nun's school.
Yet, this flared essence turns into warmth
as she tenderly flushes my fears at night
to hold the moon soft blue
while her arms delight in classic tunes,
cleansing my tears with hums
of ardor...and wings spread on
hope's ride divinely beaming with grace:
Mother.
Mama- light tenderly cuddles me;
each sky, each ream of grass
healing my rough, young adult soul...
It is the small things that matter most
Your heart sings fresh buttered toast
Family brings together a Sunday roast
Smitten a handwritten letter in the post
Jaunts or saunters down Britain’s coast
Snow balls glisten child’s mitten the host
Don’t be a Scrooge listen to every ghost
Best bet to forget regret but don’t boast
Entranced by happenstance engrossed
In the hub of a pub toast with mein host
Your flotilla through strife of life will coast
If don’t let get pushed from pillar to post
As God damn it our planet will soon roast
Foremost and utmost remember to toast
Little treasures that every day does boast
Teeny weeny pleasures our own outpost
Just make sure you are regularly dosed
With those small things that matter most
what is that coming down the lane?
She has a large head, is it made of grain?
As she saunters into sight, she has an evil look
Oh no! It is Devilina from meadow Bad Brook!
We all begin screaming and run back to our mothers
Trick-or-treating is out, says our cousin Warm Druthers
He is the biggest chicken, has been all his life.
Shut up! We tell him. Devilina will probably become your wife.
Upwards is his destination
Lost is his designation
No call from Stars above
No message of half-hearted love
Green reconnects with Red to combine
As our Smith relaxes his invisible spine
His journey so far has been to hone and refine
It is all he can muster, so far out of line
No matter his blindness, he saunters past
The Fire's Cot, mid-molten blast
Making Names wander, til' the Bellows blow
Up stairways, they travel, where our Smith now goes
Steep and coarse, the walkway is cobbled
Thrown together, stone and metal were knobbled
Though our Smith travels slowly with a slippery crawl
He soon gains some confidence, and takes steps, small
Almost like a snail with it's juice left behind
Our Smith leaves a trail a hunter could find
Green and Red splotches on a watery rind
Moving unbothered by secrets enshrined
He shivers and coils to the top of this 'case
Wriggling his body to scream from his face
"CaN i PlEaSe ReTuRn To ThE BoSs' GrAcE?!
i KnOw I'm NoT aLoNe In ThIs SpAcE!"
The steps begin to brightly glow
A clear departure from ash and shadow
The metal grey shifts to a sharpened Pink
"A fallen Smith is a missing Link."
Is it logic
Is it impulse
Is it neither
Or then both
Is it Descartes
Is it Hegel
Is it Kantian
In our hope
Will we whisper
Will we dictate
Will we prejudge
Most devout
Will we wonder
Will we question
Will we pander
Into doubt
In the morning
In the noontide
In the twilight
Of our youth
Reason saunters
Reason flounders
Reason kneels
— before the truth
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
spring saunters into the convention wearing his usual hat
a tiny goldfinch dipped in red stares us other seasons down
he is surrounded by flowers and butterflies, I look for his cat
But she decided to stay home, away from this usual clown
He brings an infusion of enthusiasm and glee
we other seasons try to ignore him, but there is no way
He has a wasp today, a dragonfly and a bee
Wearing a smug swagger, a gentleman’s sway
He knows he is all that, probably the favorite season of all
His fans are trailing him, fawning in stupidity
Let’s try to ignore him says my best friend, Fall
He is too full of himself; there is no humility
There is a dog who saunters sideways
Under the clear blue skies, shadows pave
His ecstatic tail dances
And off he goes, and prances
Chasing furry creatures at the bay
I watch him from across the hall
He has no knowledge I'm here at all
He casually saunters past my door
Along the polished squeaky floor
He jokes with friends, I hear his laugh
I even have his photograph
I watch him from across the way
He does not know how long I'll stay
How long I'll wait to see his face
How long I'll hide here in this place
He turns my way, but does not see
Caught up in his frivolity
I watch him going down the stair
Hiding in a new found lair
I listen to his heartbeat flutter
He finally sees and starts to stutter
The bleakness of the sharpened blade
His face a picture, so afraid
I get impatient waiting now
The time to take my final bow
The plotting done, the plan in motion
He'll get to see my true devotion
Idling the time away
Until I take him down as prey
September saunters in with hints of fall in tow,
brief respite from late summer’s sultry heat.
Mild weather will stand down for summer’s last hurrah.
Then autumn’s unique glories we will greet.
Already we see red and amber in the trees,
and falling leaves are dancing in the breeze.
A cat that’s tawny beige and white
And very fluffy fat
Appears from nowhere, just like
We’ve rolled out a welcome mat.
Either plopped down in the driveway
Or stretched out upon the deck,
The cat seems right at home
Although the collar on its neck
Tells me it belongs to someone;
It is not a random stray,
Yet I cannot understand why
It keeps wandering this way.
If I approach, it saunters off,
Quite haughty, like it knows
That there are better stops to make,
Or that’s what I suppose.
Sunset Haiku
orange tinted sky
sun saunters in sea to lie~
relish to the eyes.
Quiet porch and a lazy chair,
sitting for a while is a song.
A blue collar stereotype.
Highlights visible from the air,
bold italics will show up strong.
Iconic, working that pinstripe.
Dusk saunters in devil may care,
sizzling whatever could go wrong?
Tipple a taste of this peace pipe.
Like a view of the county fair,
the big girl rides go all night long.
Such fine architectural hype.
I have built my diorama,
a caricature of drama.
Easy to entrance the sycophants watch their helpless dance their back and forth swaying and swooning, in cunnilingual somniloquence.
Droning and drooling with flattering and fawning, turgently swelling, spouting placating pleasantries, a mess of gushing adulation.
Self exultation, craving congratulation by consensus for another conventional sensation, clamouring for congratulation in lurid inflated infatuation.
Curtailing castigation, striving in strides as pedestrian asperation gives rise to typical inspiration, stillted it saunters soulessly, provoking predicable platitudes.
Dreary dedication denoting the humdrum and the ho-hum, tirelessly tiring, offering effortlessly banal bestowments bequeathing a tepid tranquillising testimonial.
Uniform, unchanged, unilateral applause, amplifying abysmal analogies, articulating dearth depictions of derivative denotations.
Cryptic quips collapse carelessly caused by cumbersome correlating contradictions, deviating detrimentally forth fatuous flutterings.
Stale sentiment, sterile superfluous suppositions, garishly guilded in grandure,
Repetitious rudimentary ruminations, repackaged and retold.
Do you know my friend named Faith?
With trust in God, she treks through inconveniences,
stepping sprightly over them
with supreme optimism.
Smiling with ease, she saunters
along her life’s path, sure-stepping
for always she knows the way to go.
In the darkest of her days,
she still marches on;
a soldier of hope is she.
Some nights, she strolls,
face toward the heavens,
searching for the Star of David
so keen are her convictions.
To her friends and family,
she is an angel
ambling happily alongside them
and slowing down to lift them up
should they stumble and fall.
She loves her man
with the heart of a loyal lioness,
and he cannot help but reciprocate
her many kindnesses.
Do you know this woman?
Her faithfulness is to the sky,
for she’s got
high fidelity.
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