Garden

Dawn breaks, the dream aches to be lost, to be set free in my mind’s eye, the picture resides spotted subtle hues. The disgruntled I know you the fevered thank you and all the things which will never come through Though the smoke screen is removed I don’t see anything new Primrose landscape Butterflies trying to escape Azaleas standing shyly against the air drooping eyelids a dilapidated stare Fresh scented air with warm decanted flair Green boughs Plaited ploughs

On Dope

Ebullient is the first step Insight restrains on the culvert beside the low stemmed tree Parked on a bench the bus was on time the people in it were on time too it reached the other sidewalk on the neigh Treacle shaped silhouette Peeped on the stairway Struggled to speak Enigma! Apparitions on the threshold You are here to behold For I see nothing clear The way where I go is unclear.

A Telling Game

Words you ask? What can they be? I hardly know them, or maybe I pretend for Pretending is another dirty game. Feeling unsure, Mystique overlays. But, dear me, my heart breaks your words rip my heart anyway. Someone wise told me, and I tell you the same. for I did not want any part in this wretched game! They proclaim sitting on the high stands, Pontificating on everything! with Just a glance. Can they surmise the whole? When they only believe in what’s told The quest is on, and answers we seek. But who will give them to the meek?

Writers

Hark! Yonder lays a deep valley of surprise. Can't keep struggling with a sentence The real writers write in an instance. True So true, It’s all making someone real blue. Yet, they announce With a difference We all are writers We are of the same kind We live of each other’s dime To climb above all Pour our venting anger in a worded bowl Lest thy enemies scowl Pour them in a bigger abstracted towel Wring in dry Robed with aphorisms Lest they try and undermine our motives behind And add some abominable similes Which no one can understand?