little things

Poetic Fiction

~

If you’re in no hurry to go

then I’m in no hurry to stay

I’ll pack up my belongings

and be out by the end of the day

.

You can’t ever keep a job

Or even wash the clothes

Our meals served at the drive-thru

That’s where the money goes

.

The few dollars that remain

Is always spent on ink

The few hours that we share

Always your time to think

.

You lock yourself in a room

There you laugh, scream and cry

While I long for the silence

When one of us will die

.

If not for crumpled notes

Our stove would be always cold

Your hot and chilled emotions

Once steamy have gotten old

.

We haven’t kissed in a week

There’s been no love for a year

I’ve now begun to wonder

If love was ever there

.

Now you say you wrote a poem

That all the world should see

It’s a poem of love and devotion

But this one’s just for me

.

If these words of passion

Are as true as you say

Rumpled sheets await

There’s no need to leave today

.

But if they’re not

as all other times before

My future will unfold

beyond your paper door

~*~

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Four Leaf For All

Mornings fog this St. Paddy’s day

A chill in the air but spring’s on the way

Life’s returning from winter’s ghost

Time’s now, don your greens – share a toast

Rejoice with old friends and make some new

Tis the day Irish luck’s with all of you

We’ll bloom together, all’s chosen

All living green and having fun

Soon our days filled with sun

Saints all, when all are one

*

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Trellivision

~

Seedlings placed by chance or hand,

burst to thrust from loam and sand.

Their journey skyward a jagged path,

intertwining askew betwixt slatted lath.

.

With thorny fingers, not meant to reveal,

oft misread yet intensions are real.

Twisting and weaving through space and time,

trellis clung for their treacherous climb.

.

They’ve hands of green to catch the rays,

holding the light for cloudy days.

Or drenches, droughts and starless nights,

all’s risen anew to new morning heights.

.

Weathering a diverse world of adversity,

timely teachings taught of tolerance and tenacity.

Evolving resolve for dependence together,

blooms beckon bees and birds of a feather.

.

Golden treasure’s deep to entice and please,

fragrant allure’s cast to the breeze.

Sights and scents sensed by all.

Colors await next seasons call.

.

Days grow shorter, stems grow long,

primed for pruning though nothing wrong.

Bunched and bundled, arrayed and displayed,

till petals drop there a table laid.

.

Brushed in hand returned to land,

budding foundation where others may stand.

Cohesive nature’s expressive of art,

cycles revolve all back to start.

.

And this rose but a metaphor for all that’s living,

words remind literally of what life’s giving.

~*~

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Twilight Stroll

~

At an English peak and the new lost

a short turn’s taken at the gambrels cross.

Trees tall to recall centuries of the past

from carriage path to autos passing fast.

.

Reminiscent a lane with styles to fade

hillside perched and often made.

With a gentle rise to never waiver

our walks through time long to savor.

~*~

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The Lottery

I’ll buy the ocean, tallest tree.

When I win the lottery.

$

A never-ending shopping spree.

When I win the lottery.

*

The good times we’ll have, you and me.

When I win the lottery.

$

I’ll share it all, just wait and see.

When I win the lottery.

*

 Can you spare a buck, it’s not free.

Then I’ll win the lottery.

$

The End

*

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