Short Crisply Poems

the button down shirt
crisply pressed and impressive -
backwards, inside-out...

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Lightning and a staff
The loud thunder comes crisply
Powers beyond thought

Russell Sivey...

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Delving down deep into the inkwell of our cavernous hearts

A cascade of colors crisply careen out creating a crescendo 

To fill the blank canvas awaiting us all on the easel of life...

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snowy mountain tops
   glisten in the moonlit skies...
      crisply shines the night

glowing'cross the trees
   frosty breaths on window panes...
      cloud graced majesty

sparkling through the woods
    icy dawn magnificence...
       silent tracks of deer...

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in your memories
ebbing, white-capped
look upon me in enduring favor

one moment plucked
from the rest
still crisply descriptive
when most is lost

these abandoned cells
bide in hope
of being revisited
begged to tell their fable
one last time

in your mirror
an unfamiliar girl
let me remind you...

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Catastrophe, no I'm not bitter
                The wind caresses my margins 
                Children tickle my cold veins 
                I float to the terrain 
                For Oak Kin to thrive 
                I say crisply
                I'm charcoal 
                Goodbye 
                Time...

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I want to die
in the winter,
—when it’s cold

With the reality
of being alive, stronger,
—than all fantasy of being

Where branches 
break crisply,
—like a soul in decision

And the wind carrying away 
on its distance,
—all strength and pain

I want to die 
in the winter,
—when its cold 

(Chicago Illinois: July, 1977)...

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A Gentleman's Trappings

Crisply pressed suits hang in a dark closet
Starched white shirts lie untouched in dresser drawers
Bland ties hang limply awaiting his touch
Highly shined black shoes and socks neatly arranged 
These trappings of a gentleman gone to the grave
All waiting to be claimed by the Good Will thrift store

Copyright ©2008 Don Tyson...

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I want to die
  in the winter,
  —when it’s cold

With the reality
  of being alive, stronger,
  —than all fantasy of being

Where branches 
  break crisply,
  —like a soul in decision

And the wind carrying away 
  on its distance,
  —all strength and pain

I want to die 
  in the winter,
 —when its cold 

(Chicago Illinois: July, 1977)...

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                                       gold leaf impressions
		                  spiral crisply through cooled wind~                                    
                                           leaving stormy piles

                                       misty crimson dawn striking
                                          embraces foggy notion...

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THE tongue makes 
words so hungry
but
i love you 
and
i hate you
//a charter crisply straying
jig-saw shape across the secret-corner 
promises a love for you 
when with you i do not wish to be
but the bedroom's secretly
moist eyes are kissingly 
playing with me _____
and hope is a thief while top-turved
insides need the pleasant 
surprise to be; thy lips a sweet
thing death, wait here\\...

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Xanadu may exude such percussive bliss
Youthful romps and a coy stolen kiss
Lightly tapping in jaunty melifulous splendor
Orpheus muse prances playfully tender
Pounding with swift light jazzy flourishes
Heart and soul the xylophone nourishes
Oblivious to troubles I cannot stop my feet
Notions of love brightly swing to the beat
Each crisply chimed note a gift beyond sweet...

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As Autumn scents return to me once more    
sending me to a sweet October brush
infringing on each leaf the earthen floor    
of reds and golds collect me in their rush;
While breezes raise the feathers off a thrush
I harbor long and sweet by rivers end
just basking in  the moment of Godsend;
Firing up my senses with cooling love,
she's crisply cleans my soul with her portend    
then makes my hands infit inside my glove....

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