Saturday, June 5, 2010

a mondo of transcendent sorrow

Rounds of bubbled slag-iron
spread as ersatz cookies
under day's pale crescent
and nimbus frowns at play
to soothe the porcine boy
who only watched while

the moony boy became the moony man
standing on that sown strip of grass
between the same curb and sidewalk
observing the cars chrome blur
nonchalant with pot-bellied grin
year after passing year

the lawn sprinkler's syncopation
only worshiped by happy chance
with the rotation of each breath.

To polish in smile that door
with cut prism facets
and beveled oak galore
and prize a routine portal
into shallow self-reflection:

having been all things
being again one more
was barely a hair's ruffle
tickled by a light breeze
that hinted of rain
only later in the day.

6 comments:

  1. Greta play with words an inner info.
    Bravo!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Gerry, this is gorgeous. These are particularly thrilling:

    "the lawn sprinkler's syncopation
    only worshiped by happy chance
    with the rotation of each breath."

    ReplyDelete
  3. @Dulce: Thanks hon. Glad you enjoyed.

    @Megan: Thanks. This is kind of a new style I'm messin' with. (Or "with which I am messing." ha!)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Gerry,
    I admire your non conforming style. Long live the experimental non conformists!

    Wonderful shared moments of ponderance......

    Best wishes, Eileen

    ReplyDelete
  5. Gerry,

    Wonder-full, emancipating, invigorating. Thank you. Best wishes.....pajamas

    ReplyDelete
  6. @old pjs: Best wishes to you also. Cheers.

    ReplyDelete

Yes?