I must weed my garden, overcome and ambushed,Using rough, aching hands Pulling at sticky green tendrils Braided and rooted into red clay. Fingers grasp at my apron strings, Where they claw and hang, just as insecure children Who sob and heave, stutter with tears and beg to stay homeUnwilling to let go. Wearily I enter
Tag: poems about nature
Genetic alterations like cleft chins and widows peaks Clean white teeth and braces, Blush and pink watermelon lipgloss, Handlebar mustaches and biker beards All for nothing now and how ridiculous. Behind a mask there’s no way to flash a smile of gratitude to a shop clerk or for someone’s kindness in holding open a door.
You now hear my broken chords
Faintly in the the distance unmoored
Loosed and free until run aground
Upon a salty moore. Safely cleaned
I glean on the white million grain shore
And here I lay against my will
Here grounded evermore.
Yet I’ll still wake in the morning.
Habitually when my hands
Parting the sheets aways, sailed
Long gone I still reach after you.
I’m the water, the dew
Maturing into a pinguid mist
As the hands strike up the
Song we clap at noon.
The hour’s imminent.
Time to ride a wicked dream on
A silk weaved carpet twisted
With last night’s ghostly breath.