One more month and spring is here. When freezing to death’s no longer a fear. We’ll pack our sweaters, hats and coats. Soon the bay will fill with boats. ~ Flowers will bloom and temps will rise. Trees will green before longing eyes. Days get longer, nights a bit cool. But now we wait, because time’s cruel. ~ I don’t hate winter or the cold. But those months are growing old. I do like autumn but spring is still best. So for one more month I’ll just rest.
Whenever I think I’ve been reinvented, something gets lost, broken or dented. Change is good is what they say. But then I don’t know who I’ll be that day. ~ Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry or coffee, there’s no one best we all can agree. Fit and lean or skinny and wasted, personal palettes are always what’s tasted. ~ Intelligence’s graded by those who agree, calamity then guided by another’s stupidity. Sink or swim, lose or fight, will it matter when the victor’s right. ~ As of today I have no conclusion, just more questions and confusion. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll know what’s what. So for now I’ll just follow my gut.
My story began on the fifth of May. The day was chilly with a sky of gray. In my tent, cozy, I woke to a scream. Was it a person or was it a dream? ~ Morning dew thick, I stood there alone. The sun newly risen, I reached for my phone. No urgent messages or a soul in sight. No reason at all to cause such a fright. ~ The bikes were still leaning on a nearby tree. They’re the only way home for my pal and me. I then ran to the tent of my snoring friend, who’s along for the ride this spring weekend. ~ But the roar from within made it quite clear, my old friend’s just fine, no need to fear. I then glanced down the path to a campsite nearby. Something felt wrong but I didn’t know why. ~ I tiptoed closer when another scream was heard. It was the voice of a child, but that seemed absurd. I then ran to the shrieking and what did I find? Kids with a snake and they weren’t being kind. ~ I said hey kids “what’s with the noise? And why do you think that snakes are toys?” One little girl about seven or eight, said she wanted a pet and snakes are great. ~ Her brother the screamer cried at the thought. He’s afraid of snakes or anything caught. The other two children stood quiet and surprised, their naughty ways they now realized. ~ I said all life should be treated as if it’s your own. A lesson you should have already known. Soon the kid’s parents arrived on the scene. Their mother was angry, their father, big and mean. ~ He yelled loudly at his children and then at me. Saying stay away from my kids or trouble you’ll see. I knew not to argue or make a big fuss. But there was something I hoped to discuss. ~ I said “no problem, it’s not what it seems.” I then told them my story of snakes and screams. Their mom, disgusted, took the kids back to camp. The dad growled asking “do you think I’m damp?” ~ Puzzled, I asked “what do you mean, I’ve only told you what I’ve seen.” “I saw no snake, just my kids and you.” The dad replied, “What would you do?” ~ I know what I thought, but I couldn’t say. I felt it best to live through the day. I could’ve run, but to where? I could’ve fought him, but I didn’t dare. ~ He then picked up a very big stick. Then he charged at me like a lunatic. I stood frozen awaiting my demise, when the little snake caught the big man’s eyes. ~ He stopped on a dime and screamed in fear. His reptilian angst now was clear. So I slowly bent over and picked up the snake. The big man then started to tremble and shake. ~ “This is the culprit,” I loudly said. As I waved it gently near his clammy head. Sobbing, he begged, “Please take it away. I now believe everything you say.” ~ I took a step back, surprised and relieved. The turn of events was hardly believed. I thanked that snake and said goodbye to the dad. He just waved, whimpering and sad. ~ I then put the snake down and walked quietly away. I was relieved we survived this fine spring day. I went back to my tent then fell back to sleep, never to tell who a snake made weep.
Hello world, how do you do? I’ve got a little something to share with you. The sun has risen and the day is new. But what comes next I’ve not a clue. ~ I’m sure you’re feeling much the same, though to be confused there is no shame. Mistakes get made, we share the blame. Wouldn’t it be nice if life were tame? ~ Imagine the place this world could be, if all could live both safe and free. Think of the wonders we’d all see. See you tomorrow, that’s it for me.
I’m sorry I have no poem today. I’ve actually started two. But I have no endings. So I’ve nothing to share with you. ~ Fortunately there are tomorrows. Perhaps I’ll end them then. Or maybe this is a metaphor; for the fickleness of the pen. ~ Many things get started. Only some will see an end. But until there’s a conclusion, a finish, we can pretend. ~ So I’ll pretend my poems are great. They start off really well. And I’ll imagine it’s a perfect day. For the unknown we shouldn’t dwell.
Peace is free but war is not. Values burn and soon forgot. Life’s the goal or so is told. But talk’s cheap and death is gold. ~ Peace is free, fingers crossed. Once caught worries tossed. Savings saved and tucked away. But safety ensured by others sway. ~ Peace is free so why not? Prides delusion never forgot. Hands of few guide the masses. Feet of all climb the classes. ~ Peace is free, what’s the cost. Friends made and pennies lost. Keys are many, eyes in the slot. Peace is free but we forgot.
Acme is the place we all want to be. It’s the pinnacle and the entire world’s to see. It’s where our flights of fancy are flying free, anvils no problem with the power of we. ~ A peek at our peak we imagine and seek. Up and down in waves we speak. Whether yacht or dingy, they all will leak. And my day’s high point is to kiss your cheek. ~ Now back to acme before I wander too far. It’s the place that sets the bar. Most won’t get there with just a car. But our match is won, no need to spar. ~ Optimally positioned to spend time with you, our love’s a summit seen by a few. And with you I’m at my apogee, that’s why you’re the acme for me.
My machine is broken on this cold winter’s day. I woke up early but I’ve nothing to say. My pad looks lonely with no words on it yet. So I looked out the window for inspiration to get. ~ But the sky is gray and the snow is brown. And the hour’s too early for any action in town. The birds are still nested and the squirrels asleep. The cats are about but not making a peep. ~ My world is quiet, silence is heard. My vision is clear but my thoughts are blurred. So I look at the news, but nothing’s good there. So alone I sit on my old kitchen chair. ~ Something will come, it usually does, I don’t know the reason so I say it’s because. Because, because is the answer we give when we’ve none, so that’s all for now because I’m done.
There is an old hippy that lives at the North Pole. He chugs from his mug and puffs on his bowl. His mug of cider is both warm and sweet. His bowl of tobacco is his once a week treat. ~ Mama makes brownies to keep hubby plump. This task is made easy as he sits on his rump. The elves do the work most of the year, until Santa is called to guide his reindeer. ~ He then flies the globe in the dark of night. And he’s only one chance to get it all right. The clock is ticking with no hour hand. Quickly he soars over cities, oceans and sand. ~ A long list he keeps so no one is missed. He then gobbles up cookies and sometimes is kissed. Then kids everywhere wake to presents galore. Then Santa will rest for another year more.