Most of the time flowers will do.
Those gentlest of ambassadors
commissioned to disarm the caustic ego.
Trim burrs from misunderstandings.
Temper the burn of good intention gone awry...
To most they whisper of peace and love
they're brooch to the breast of forgiveness.
Conflict and Confusion often arise.
when the blossom stompers arrive...
a brute cannot comprehend the language of flowers.
These are the times when powder must flash.
Bullets must strip the gold from its silence...
Blood must get the attention of the icy rain.
To glean a grain of humble from the ogre hearted,
who's every breath wishes to singe the garden.
Categories:
stompers, peace, war,
Form: Free verse
First Winter
My hat is;
My hat was a gift from my guy.
It keeps my head warm…
and I can think now,
more clearly.
(The cold, it was bitter indeed)
My hands;
My hands have new gloves.
Warm heart, warm hands,
that is the saying,
they say…
somewhere.
(I can feel my fingers now. There were numb.)
My shoes;
Boots.
Leather STOMPERS and wool socks.
My man bought me the very best he could afford.
I cried when he opened the package.
The value I had been given up until then,
much less.
(You never know the measure of something until it is missed.)
Love;
Making sure the one you care about…
is cared for…
Categories:
stompers, hero, kiss, love, marriage,
Form: Narrative