Short Burrs Poems

i mustn’t b
2 kind 2
my nay
burrs.
they leaf
grass for me
2 cut and
leafs 4 me
to rayk.

i mustn’t b
2 kind 2
my teach
urrs.
they scold
me and shake
their heads
at my
“effurt”.

i mustn’t b
2 kind 2
any1.
they’re
just livin
in Melon
kolee
like me....

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Watch out 4 them lightening bolts ..
if the lectricic do take awful holt
Besmirched unwitted irredescent
the moon may slide across your present  ...

Begone bewail some awful deed
the bindi's have now gone to seed
when tripping through the burrs you go
you'll probably curse the so and so's

Don Johnson...

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Grotesque Gimply the Green Eyed Witch
Was trying to rake her hair without a twitch.
Tangled burrs and fleas made her skull itch.
We watched in silence, myself and Fitch.

Fitch is the cat with who knows the switch.
For Grotesque Grimply can be a rather mean witch.
I sat in the dark, hiding away in the pitch.
The silent bat, who understands her niche....

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A September chill pierces the morning
cutting through my open window.
Sharp air nips past naked ankles
as Autumn nibbles into my day.

Wasps sift September with regret
buzzing the fading scent of roses.
Tart apples sweep mellow branches
savouring a wind sweetened rain.

Chestnut burrs bristle spiny green
pregnant with mahogany clusters.
Crumpled leaves huddle in garden corners
crunching crooked for warmth.

MMC © 2011...

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His Life
Written: by Miracle man
2-10-2020

Life consisted of habit and attitude,
and neither would he willingly surrender.
One day he discovered his thinking was skewed,
and no more was he labeled a pretender.

Sometimes as he stubbornly clutched to self life,
unhealthy routines became burrs in his path.
Then his subsequent days weren't engrossed in strife 
he’d swapped his rebellion to escape God's wrath. 
...

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Read these words,
no Not ‘these’ words,
read the words
that are laid to rest
under a thorny bush.

See how they emerge
to eat the spikes and burrs
become this life of yours?

Tell the teacher
the one with the gray heart,
tell that teacher
you have known all his words before
and they are now buried
under a briar patch
hidden from the light.

From barb and thistle
your own words shall flower;
they will utter a wisdom
only the wounded may know....

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