Fireflies at night.
Are busy.
They light up with attitude.
And land on my shoulder unexpectedly.
In the summer.
Cars going by sound crisp as they sweep through town.
My head is unmuffled.
And my hands are free of those gloves.
Winter hassles.
Like clearing the driveway.
My voice is raspy from the cold air and sicknesses.
Winter boots would get muddy over and over.
In the summer.
Fireflies light up to make us feel excited.
As one lands on my glass of iced tea.
Reminding me to fill the glass again.
I know that this lake will freeze again.
And soon, we’ll forget about the flowers.
Nothing exists in the winter.
Except hot tea and hot coffee.
One of the last fireflies of the season.
He dropped by and told me that it was almost September.
Then, he flew so high up, I lost sight of him.
One of summer’s last magic tricks.
The lake froze.
My hands almost did, but I got mittens on in time.
I have blankets and coats in my car.
My car starts up harshly and loudly in the winter.
Fireflies at night.
Every summer.
They say things and dazzle us.
And they will next year too.
Categories:
unmuffled, summer,
Form: Free verse
Black-ice sheers,
it cuts deep into paved-ways and lots.
Night snorts a frigid fog,
the caked and idling cars
only sludge a gripping freeze.
This glacial dark fangs wrists and hearts.
Grit nips at tender cheeks and tongues.
The lights of bistros cannot withstand
their desolate backyards.
A scree of black curb can be crossed,
only if the heavily shod
mash and smash through.
Are we in the end days or
in an age of small uncertain fears
that cannot now truly thaw?
We slip along
uncover small pockets of glee
in these long frozen hours
where exhausted minds sleep
and walk.
Death is upended,
lungs mask against a stabbing air,
small ice sculptures appear
in snowy humps and heaps
as if this time will always be congealed,
nailed like this to scraps of eternity.
Later, these days,
with all there residue of lost souls
will be swept way
from the crusted edge
of mall steps and clogged paths.
Then it will be a different time,
a forgotten time, one only recalled
as a mist behind wintry eyes
as we, all unmuffled now,
glance backwards into yet another
uncertain future.
Categories:
unmuffled, poetry,
Form: Free verse
UNMUFFLED
When the seventies came call’n
With the salesman done a brawl’n
You can hear the car a roar’n
When the pedal is a floor’n
And my dad, he is a soar’n
With a second hand not bor’n
You can hear the car a roar’n
When the pedal is a floor’n
And the noise it is appall’n
As he tries steep hill a soar’n
You can hear the car a roar’n
When the pedal is a floor’n
Whilst my mother is a chor’n
This attention is so foreign
You can hear the car a roar’n
When the pedal is a floor’n
And the neighbors now are war’n
As it sounds like someone snor’n
You can hear the car a roar’n
When the pedal is a floor’n
10/30/2019
Categories:
unmuffled, car, dad, humorous,
Form: Monorhyme
Scrub your mind and make webs your harp,
Pluck them with your ivory fingers, they smart;
Raindrops from the ribbons of blue,sparkle the day,
Melody unmuffled, birds tuned in, take heart.
Pain drenched in rain, turns sedate, only harp
A queen's treasured bait for the abstruse lovers;
I am your angel you can say with pride,
As golden harp, the woven fate, uncovers.
Angels In The Rain Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Vermillion Scythe
Form:Quatrain
DOE: 23rd June, 2018
Categories:
unmuffled, metaphor, music, song,
Form: Quatrain
In an otherwise
uneventuful
morning, between the
roles we locked
eyes, bantering
without
mincing words, allowing
futures, names, and
rebuttals to
stem from our hearts
unmuffled, and
mingle.
A fearless
gig between the
staves ensued, bringing
us to melt in a
timeless
embrace of playful
reminders of our
unmistakeable, unshakeable, and
unutterable bond.
In a twine of echoes and
mirrors, between the
statements you
probed, between the
silences I
listened, between the
changes you
questioned, between the
questions I
changed.
Between encounters we
found
ourselves speaking our
undecipherable
Angelic language, between the
sentences we read
our souls so
smoothly.
Between the
grooves I think, between the
rules you feel, between the
lines we just
ARE.
Categories:
unmuffled, allegory, dance, language, love,
Form: Free verse
It gives life a time to reflect on an unclothed transparency seer.
Winter is the time to tame life with little heat and almost no light.
This is nature’s pause as the curtain of life begins to close tight.
Winter's loneliness allows for the gathering to touch a friendly scattering.
It’s winters quietness that allows unmuffled sounds to carry chattering.
Nature’s artist only has a palette of color of just a few,
Paints a painting of faith and hope of something new.
While nature, dreams the dreams of winter’s rest,
Morning yawns, the land wakes from nature’s chest.
The sun is warm, but the chill in the air still has dominance.
Yet the innocence of a few daffodils shows their prominence.
So many colors for the eye to see, look the grass it's fresh and green.
Birds sing as they fly tree to tree as we watch this enlightening scene.
Oh, you can see it in the palette and hear it in the air…Spring is here!
Edward J Ebbs - January 11, 2015
Written for a Contest, Winters End
Categories:
unmuffled, color, daffodils, imagery, nature,
Form: Rhyme