Grey, depressed and soggy was the riverside shore
My toes plummeted into the lack luster mush.
The goose flesh clamminess invaded my pores
Far away from my favorite sand scrubs purchased at lush.
Existing off the grid, on the coast is dreamlike and serene.
I’ve gained self-owed feeling of completeness
from bathing with the minnows and never soundproofing my screams.
I've been hypnotized by the monarch’s vivid glow
and the honey suckle’s sweetness.
The fall foliage boasting its beauty before snow.
true friends are the birch and cedar trees indeed.
Stout forests brimming with deep rooted kept secrets.
While the tide varies habitually like the bluesy moods of a woman ridding her monthly red seed.
Whistling winds reminds me I am not alone
The breeze communicates with me
as if we are old pals on the phone.
(contest entry for:
Emile Pinet
New Fall Sonnets)
nov 12
Insomniac writer, that’s what I am.
Pen and paper are natural,
bedtime accessories;
at least, in my world.
The blues of my bedroom;
soft cushions for my tired eyes.
Scent of lavender, on my pillow;
tries to force, the darn sheep;
they never come.
Tossing…turning…mind-churning;
the chatter, in my head, won’t cease;
my favorite New York rocker,
beside the, overloaded bookshelf, beckons.
Muse’s tantrum…
a violently beating drum…
possesses me.
Like some mindless drone,
hands stalk pen and paper.
Night-wandering, in my cocoon of blue;
I rock and write…my carpet,
soundproofing crying, pine floorboards.
The numerous paintings and
photographs, on my bedroom walls,
inspire Muse and with “Wagner’s Valkyrie”,
riding my ear-channels,
she has her say.
Insomniac writer, that’s what I am.
Pen and paper are natural,
bedtime accessories;
at least, in my world.
The blues of my bedroom;
soft cushions for my tired eyes.
Scent of lavender, on my pillow;
tries to force, the prancing sheep;
they never come.
Tossing…turning…mind-churning;
the chatter, in my head, won’t cease;
my favorite New York rocker,
beside the, overloaded bookshelf, beckons.
Muse’s tantrum…
a violently beating drum…
possesses me.
Like some mindless drone,
hands stalk pen and paper.
Night-wandering, in my cocoon of blue;
I rock and write…my carpet,
soundproofing crying, pine floorboards.
The numerous paintings and
photographs, on my bedroom walls,
inspire Muse and with “Wagner’s Valkyrie”,
riding my ear-channels,
she has her say.
Sometimes people live too close to one another
with the scent of lives overlapping lines
psyches stepping on toes and
problems bleeding in through doors & windows.
Neighbors crying, remonstrating, manipulating, and copulating
demonstrating the need for soundproofing or renovating
as we wave the next day our smiles ingratiating
because its at their expense our needs we’ve been satiating
and the building goes on.
Some stress “urban sprawl” others cry “urban blight.”
Yet developers rub hands with piggish delight
Smart animals follow the birds, which take flight
and poor confused deer become targets at night.
Yet the building goes on.
Big boxes, small boxes, strip malls and stores,
McDonalds, and Wendy’s, and Bed Bath and More
Family Dollars and State Liquor Stores
Pawn Shops and Nail Shops and
and . . .
when trees are memories
fish bellies rise like steam from warm waters
and desertification has become "the new black."
Perhaps then we will draw a line in the sand.