march of ants
This thing has ended up
far greater than we thought
Time is rushing along,
we may not meet the deadline-
but we must! keep pushing!
This thing has ended up
far greater than we thought
Time is rushing along,
we may not meet the deadline-
but we must! keep pushing!
There’s a little deer that comes
Every evening to our backyard
Munching on the honeysuckle
Growing thick beneath the tree
A little whisp of a thing she is
Last years fawn, all grown up
Thin and baby faced this summer
Returning to where she was born
They come back every spring
To have their babies on our land
Where they are safe and protected
Corn spread on the ground to eat
When the greens aren’t enough
For the mama’s with little ones
It’s a blessing to see them all come
Year after year, back to this haven
And now this new little one too
Where she will raise her own fawns
Where she will come in winter months
For food and water, a familiar place
Another little deer to come and go
Another little miracle of the forest
Two things can be true at once
A drug lord can be both an outlaw and
An important proponent of the economy
A cold blooded killer and
A father whose love knows no bounds
Which do we choose to see, and when?
An elegant and climbing flower we adore may also
Strangle the trees it swarms
A fragrance as sweet as the honeycomb
May waft from a tyrant that collapses all its colonized
What can we learn from narcos and wisteria?
Perhaps that two things can be true at once
What do we choose to see, and why?
i stand in front of a blank canvas
white…
empty…
quiet…
as i dip the brush, the noise starts…
touch the linen with three
and my mouth fills with hot, stinging red
like cinnamon burning the back of my throat…
bleed five into the corner
pure and green…
like crushed borage leaves and lime zest…
nine
drips delicately from the bristles…
pricks at my tongue…
lemony and bright…
and the weight of seven
bright purple velvety juice exploding in my mouth…
stepping back…
i savor the taste…
waiting for the colors to dry
In the spring we come alive, fresh pure and new
Tender and green, we don’t know what it means
To be old, lonely or blue
Like a shute on a redbud tree, we lay in wait to bloom
An innocent child so patient and mild
A bride waiting for her groom
Summertime is fun, we do things just because
Days are long, nights are warm
And in these moments we get lost
We don’t think beyond today,
We’re too young to have a past
We don’t care to try, never ask why
Believing these days will always last
By fall we’ve settled down, we found out who we are
No longer are we like leaves in the breeze
But sometimes wish we were
A beauty all its own
Orange, crimson, gold and wine
A chance to reflect, maybe some regrets
But we know something about life
Winter is cold, everything slows down
We sit by the fire, weary and tired
Hoping we smile more than we frown
Covered with a blanket of snow
A quiet peace the old man brings
Our harvest we’ve reaped, now it’s time to sleep
Buried beneath the ground
And so it goes with the seasons of life
A flower grows, it blooms and dies
you look hot
I think I said
three times
while I stared
through sunglasses
at plaid
pajama pants
a few unruly hairs
sprouted from his chin
unbothered
by 80 degree sprints
Lie upon this bed,
as warm as aging compost pile
With sunny rays drapped on legs of lead
and let that be our clock awhile
Michael Scott and Gon Freecss
take turns across the screen
Come dawdle with me
with this interior athropy
books lean on nightstands
With several wrappers of toxic treats
Today just doing what we can
come rot with me
Red-faced as the flag flapping from his golf cart,
The man cursed as he whipped his jowly face around,
Glaring at the car that dared to pass him,
Inflaming his sense of wounded honor.
The woman next to him flippantly waved her liver spotted arm,
Engaging her long-suffering, long learned tactics of
Managing his rage,
Dissipating his fervor,
His affronted ego
As the silver SUV passed,
A car driven by a younger woman,
A woman born into a different generation,
A different perspective,
A future that left him and his furor
Behind.
