If the earth were made of cheese,
and the seas made just of ink,
soda crackers would be gold,
traded for things cold to drink.
But the world is not like that,
or else the rats would run it;
furthermore, it seems to me
a fantasy to dream it.
15 APR 2025
Leave a CommentA tiny bit of light seeps in along the sofa’s edge;
into the folds of fuzzy blankets shadows flee,
as the first dappled warm begins its creep
against the surface of her sleeping face.
In that sweet peace, that place of still,
I sit and watch her soft and quiet breath,
afraid to move and bruise the calm
that fills the room in that brief time.
In all these years we’ve spent this way
the wonder of it doesn’t cease:
that she would spend that time with me,
is sometimes, far beyond belief.
And yet, each dawn comes in anew;
I welcome it each day.
There’s not a thing that I would shift
or change in any way.
10 APR 2025
Leave a CommentIt should be more troubling:
a lack of common sense abounds,
and this thin gruel bubbling
is not fit food for the hounds.
Is there anyone believing
they will eat their fill tonight?
When your day’s spent aggrieving,
what meal brings you delight?
Look where the wolves assemble
just past the last fire’s glowing;
we prattle and dissemble
while darkness keeps on growing.
10 APR 2025
Leave a CommentIf wondering I’m again creating daily poems using each poetry forms from #LewisTurco’s #BookofForms, 3rd Edition. Currently in the C’s.
Leave a Comment