“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label February poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label February poem. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Finicky February
No primal forecast
of biblical lions and lambs
but peaking out of the burrow
beheaded in hibernation
Phil is drug
tail first
-wait-
On the 2nd
He doesn't care, he belongs to
Fickle February
No! Do Not Come In
bearing scentless roses
oblique and obligated
as the date is so stated
candlelight of lights refrain
women and wine stain
invisible ink made black and blue
and more blue than black (again)
Fickle February
Throwing rocks around
sweetening the deal
secret tokens and trading cards
diamonds and chocolate
She's a shape-shifter of melted ice
requiring rosy reliquaries of romance
Fickle February
Jacaranda's and Apple Blossoms
White winter Jasmine
Witch-hazel Sweet-box
all brazenly in bloom
icy appeal of a happy tree boughs
skeleton limbed bones poking thru
mimicking the mockingbird's song
Fickle February
Happy and hopeful
singing into spring
wallowing in winter
disappointments dashed
rekindled by revenge
which counts the ways
of these 20 something days
Fickle February
Rain and sun with snowy flowers
mystical manners
of this monthly matter made
Sinners and Saints
Lovers and Loners
a figment of our fabrication
Fickle February
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Tres (trace)
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...