Time slips through fingers
Like a handful of warm sand
Each grain falling away
Yet as empty as I feel
Time clings under fingernails
Tag: Misc.
Paper crumpled like
Mushrooms surrounding a stump
Shaped like a waste bin
Blue ink across the white
Words some might call “poetry”
What am I, a square?
No, I am rectangular,
Of little value,
Albeit might when joined,
Pluralizing your old word.
Possibility
My greatest weakness hands down
Regardless the time
Dreaming up what could be is
So fascinating to me
Sunlight will be
We can always go back home
Oh Wow! I just saw
Beauty and her best friend in
The bay of green tea roses
Handed out in pairs
Around a felted table
Hearts blinding our eyes
Big or small or dealer dealt
Always all in on five-four
What weekend wonders,
Await me on Saturday?
And will they be kept,
Secret until Sunday Eve?
Or even worse, Monday morn!
Those simple moments
Carry me through the weekday
Lunch calls and laughter
Book club, burgers, and music
For dancing in the kitchen.
The day got away
Father time drove by without
Even a hello
Saw the sunset fall through clouds
A brief respite from my screens
Poetry is hard
And I have but fewer words
To describe today
My mind is running on fumes
What will happen tomorrow?