Short Mouldering Poems

Why should I want the holy moment of birth,when it will be finished with mouldering?
 Why should I like the developement and cultivation,when the result is utter devestation.
 Why should I be happy,for the lovers meeting,when it will be ended up with seperation....

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across tree-lined yards
leaves dance in colorful frocks --
distant school bell chimes

through open windows
the scent of pumpkin spice drifts --
an orange moon rises 

under charcoal skies 
rain dampens mouldering leaves --
a lone snowflake falls


By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, August 29, 2012
for Autumn Splendor Contest (Russell Sivey)...

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We move through the hollows of everyday life,
Shaking and quaking and searching for spice.

Round and round a day we make,
To some we give, others we take.

Mouldering, soldiering, passing ways,
Folded pieces hidden for remembered days.

Solid state and filled with cracks,
All full things have a point which lacks.

Truth is a truth, a lie is a lie,
So it goes 'til the day you die....

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Prison Earth,
 where the levels hurt,
Depending on your location,
Deeper do do, 
Afghanistan worse,
The prison’s of our creation.

What is this place,
in mouldering time,
where I see it not at all,
on the prison earth,
right from my birth,
a criminal oh so small.

will ya trip n fall,
on the bladder gall,
at the abbatoir,
dunno?!?

Get anudder job,
Be a bloody snob
Shut yer gob
yer hopeless so n so …

Don Johnson 28-sep-11...

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Sickly sickly treacle trickley
seeps on, mouldering down the crock.
Stickily sticky it steadily, trickily
keeps on for many a round of the clock.

I wonder I wonder if I would turn green
Should I gutsily plunder its festering urn,
Or should I desecrate such a picnic-y scene
If I’d gently expire or clamorously burn.

Quickly quickly treacle slickly
Drippily dribbles down onto the floor—
‘Fore I can supply my sick wonder
The trickley treacle has trickled off and is no more....

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