Friday, November 27, 2015

When mother came to town

After the leaf filled pool had drained
there was still the linger of her smile
for the rotund boy attempting to sun
in a day of intermittent showers that

threatened to ruin her coif into damp
grey curls redolent of Grecian ruins.
He was a gladiator once, pride of her
loins, conquering all that she loathed.

Now her blue deck shoes curl and she's
chilled in the shadow of a low arc'd sun.

When she moved in feline grace, the mind
only thought of nails, orange came normal 
against the brown drift of floating leaves.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

One Purple Iris

Blah blah would be a cogent way to blah
but whose mind doesn't tire of it all the time.

But I heard something about a mud bubble
which mattered greatly. The mud swallowed
everything. And it splattered everything too.

To crawl out into the warmth was to view
a miniature purple iris opening at dawn.

The mud swallowed everything but a crawl
out mattered. A dewy iris purple in the sun

was all.

Friday, November 13, 2015

Sometimes in Autumn

Iconic in the autumn breeze, 
she smirks before the train. 

If another leaf falls, 
a rake would come in handy:

good gloves on the handle 
might protect the tender skin.