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I look up into the sky. As a paint brush swirls half heartedly around in my mind. I see a family of robins flying by, silhouettes of past lovers in the clouds, castles of the working class, and warmth. All the things I dream of, wish for, dwell on. And don't have. My canvas is blue. The pigments mixed with tears. The sun now setting. Time is my enemy. Beyond the horizon an army of depression is at battle. My soldiers are blue.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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For all the poets knocking on the door-
May your poems find the sunny shore-
Like bottled dreams washing ashore-
Beckoning to become uncorked and more-
As the sun peeks your horizons at the core-
The beauty from your blue skies for evermore-
To some day leave your footprints of lore-
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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From the fruit of the vine came the sour grapes-Like raging bulls to the matadors capes-They can't put losing to bed-And continue to see red-The bad whine spills and the good wine escapes
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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Regarding-The I Hate Stinkin Contest Theme. I hate contests rabbit if you like it or not. So again take your bunnies and award them top spot. Let your bunny hops become a turkey trot. Where the friendliest gobbles are sought. I take your contest as food for thought. Where I rabbit digest no stinkin plastic in the pot.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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Mangos to date a pear of plum peaches to see what honeydew
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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Maybe there was his bird in the sky-That looked down for good reason-There was never a worm at morning dawn-Or a branch to share a song-Only a burning bridge on her side
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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there are redwoods here. I come to endear. the forest leaves tear. when one tree disappear. backwoods to top tier. all with wee Shakespeare
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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In my harbor, there was no lighthouse. Just two sharks that circled my innocence, grabbing a feel. A second-grade teacher followed by a ninth-grade janitor scenting blood, bait, boy as if I was their prey. The sea held this secret for fifty years and in its aftermath, nothing was ever at bay.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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Your ship sails across the sea filled with blues. If only life can be for you, a cruise. With views of a new horizon great and enthuse. The newfound wind at your back please choose.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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it is a joy watching the bunnies out of harm's way feeding on daily carrots of real ... out of the clutches of masked wolves with their fake carats of steal.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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Once upon a fallen book ... his albatross was on a hook ... for laugh the flock's outlook ... pages appear to overcook ... words singed and mistook ... the look on his face shook ... he got back up to change the look ... to rewrite the spell in his nook ... a second wind is all it took ... best wishes to the authors
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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your poems wear like minks. style and grace in syncs. shiny and top grit. just the perfect fit. on words that sashay. your coat breathes cachet.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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man's war of tongues starts at the mouth of streams teething crooked and rotten
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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My little catfish ... somewhere cold ... you were good but you didn't fool me. I can only imagine your back pockets mutating with red herrings and sock puppets. And if I ever saw you posing on a red carpet I'd picture you with an oscar ... the kind that wiggles ... blowing bubbles.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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Ty, July. I'm choked for words to toast. And when my earth departs in the wake of mercury rising, and ashes become ashes and I get smoked. It would certainly be poetic to use the pass on being born again.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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On his mantle sagged his lifetime work of poems, dead to the world, that a would-be taxidermist painstaking would have a hard time shaping and bringing his stuff back to life.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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My scenario, not begotten. For all else live in a cocoon here, insulated and isolated, honing their poetry in darkness and shadows ... to one day their poems taking flight like beautiful butterflies.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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let's not toast a drink, to a poet ink, that cries stink, after all, whats there to think, let the con and hoodwink, fall and sink, wither away and shrink, from my little kink, to ... now a parting wink, I'm sorry I wasn't in sync
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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to the snakes in the grass, slithering foolhardy, onto connie's cache of poems dare you to plagiarize, take the crown jewels, and then hiss.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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What I find the sun, water and wind blend, her triple treats a godsend.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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What I find is that I know of a women from my past, I think, a member of the poetry community here infiltrating my poems with comments. It's funny. She writes under the guise of different accounts ... I call them wooden ducks... she says oh, oh, your poem is so good. Fake praise, I think. She throws me a 7. I laugh. We're cats and dogs.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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What I find is that no mater how much I try she dismisses me. No rhyme or reason given. Just mystery.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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What I find is that the poetry contest here resemble zoo petting contest. Connie you didn't say that. Oh yes I did. Connie, think girl, think of the collateral damages. Ha. Who cares.
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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What I find is that I write throw away poems, poems that take no time to write, giggly poems receiving the most praise. Isn't this ironic?
Go to Quote / Comment | by connie pachecho
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