Trauma and drama
crowd out creativity-
what’s a poor poet to do?
~
When the heat dies down,
the poet reignites his
fire and begins to write.
Trauma and drama
crowd out creativity-
what’s a poor poet to do?
~
When the heat dies down,
the poet reignites his
fire and begins to write.
Not a day goes by,
it seems, without May weeping.
Why all these histrionics?
~
Perhaps, like me, she’s
been holding, subjected to
lachrymatory Muzak!
June is knocking on
May’s door, telling her to stop
her torrent of tears and leave.
~
Let us all just hope
May refrains from telling June
her tales of woe as she leaves.
Being short of breath
and, shorter still, of temper,
conversation is unwise.
~
So we take up our
pens and mondo converse. Take
heart; it could be worse.
We got another
to be continued notice
from the rain filled clouds on high.
~
Again, the Monsoon
moves from the tropics, northward,
into this, once temperate, land.
A joy filled morning
on this Graduation day!
Now to unwind and relax.
~
Let’s take a moment
and soak in happiness shared,
achievement celebrated.
Your son is about
to graduate. Can the same
thing be said for you?
~
This graduation
is, yet another, etching
upon this life’s meter stick.
One abducts grandma,
one sits naked in the road;
just another day at work.
~
And your presence there
brings reason and compassion
to those who need so much.
These days if you leave
home without an umbrella,
you must be an optimist.
~
Perhaps. Or perchance
you are less the optimist;
rather, more the masochist.
That pointless prattle!
Do these kids believe this is
really meaningful discourse?
~
Maybe there’s no point
beyond connecting and who
can argue with that?