Preferential treatment does hurt.
Jealousy swept under bedskirt.
She pinches the harp in background.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
The eldest withdraws with lone words,
Tends to the notion of firebirds.
Flames of wind, harassing, unbound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Not love, nonetheless - of first things.
Very little under her wings.
Harping and lost, in tears she drowned.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Carried on military style,
Untucked blouse, fell in love meanwhile.
Innocence of strumming, compound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Existence - inky endeavor;
Playing this life of whenever.
An angel’s heartbreak is profound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
There are sights that can give me a start-
silly things that turn cold my warm heart;
fuzzy socks and big crocs
is an image that blocks
me accepting them as looking smart!
And for sure, when are seen on a gent
sporting shorts, untucked shirt like a tent-
bony legs, bare and thin
propped by crocs, socks within,
for sure, adds to my heart's discontent!
Then again, if he seems kind of old,
maybe his unclad feet do get cold!
Fuzzy socks then would do
inside crocs- from this view,
now my heart sees him comfy and bold!
June 9, 2021
Contest: Fuzzy Socks and Crocs
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
In the blue vase, hip high
Is a rose
Not a new rose, days have gone by
Since first blossom, and timeless scent
Fragile neck, a green cord, bent to the right
As if falling to one side in a half swoon
Oily briers, thorns dark and daring
Cat’s claws, to draw blood, but not on skin
To seep and drain, bruised, into veined segments
Cheek-soft, aging with hints of brown
Around deep blushing cups, scoured at the edge
Frayed by the sun
Into the red swirl, circles within circles
Melting away to the heart, the final secret
Exposed, peeled back, as a handkerchief
Untucked from the breast pocket
Falls to the ground
The first in a line of lovely failings
As time reveals itself in ailing petals
And sighs, content, as nature is reclaimed
A beguiling fool lonely and lost
Created chaos looking for love
Stirring and seducing every skirt in his wake
No shame no morality a gutless snake
In the midst of his bliss so happy was he
Forgetting himself he’d forgotten to pee
Soaked were his nickers crotch to his socks
Untucked his shirt so that he could walk
No longer held high was the snakes’ head
Embarrassed and whimpering face all red
He rushed to his home to get himself clean
His friends cheered him on pointing with glee
Kharmas’ a twist that turns round on fate
When you harm someone it will be at your gate
Somewhere between the simple, slow and quiet
She found him, far away from the touristy crowd
Shirt untucked, canvas slung over his shoulder
His skin, warm and salty
Sweet leftovers from his affair with the sea
She missed his taste, a revelation realized
As her lips traced each of his pulses
Throbbing with life, so vital, so intense.
He found her organic, neatly tucked away in the coastal hillside
Her scent, as elemental as her beauty
Her eyes, the violet that blooms from the Jacaranda tree
Armeria painted her lips a soft spanish pink
He charted her every detail in his mind
He carefully navigated to points of interest
His compass, his heart
His hands, her pleasure
Their love
The earth and sea.
A stirring lilac breeze for an alarm or,
alternatively, a morning dove's song
Minimum one, maximum two people
absolutely no minors
Several medium-firm pillows
a well-fluffed quilt, untucked
Two auto-frying eggs and strips of bacon
and auto-toasting toast, buttered, triangular
A large glass of freshly-squeezed (by someone else)
pink grapefruit juice
Espresso served in tiny cups à la volonté
steamed milk upon request
A stout newspaper, of which no more than 50%
can be composed of actual news
Miles Davis "Kind Of Blue" looping
in the background
One pair of loose fitting boxer shorts with t-shirt
one pair of bare feet, regardless of the season
And absolutely, positively
no planning whatsoever
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