After the redbuds,
when black-haw and paw-paw bloom,
comes winter’s last freeze.
Signaling the virtuous
to sow Mother Earth
with their winter dormant seed.
Prayers for bountiful harvest.
Tanka
NaPoWriMo 6 Apr 2023- Tanka
Finally, Springtime warmth
seems to have arrived, at last,
but remember, friends,
despite all the climate change,
we’re still flipping coins with frost.
Sunshine State
Delusion retreats
to the warm and soothing balm
in south Florida
rapt in the frantic embrace
of those who pet their egos.
An Inconstant Measure
Quartz cannot command
time’s irregular advance;
it passing us by
in subjective intervals
dependent on attention.
Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!
They cry, “Liberty!”,
but as far as I can tell,
the only freedom
they respect is the freedom
to tell her what she can’t do.
Tanka For a Poet
Amazing poet…
Though he alone, knows it.
Truly! Twice gifted.
A huge vocabulary
Eclipsed, only, by ego…
Any Press Is Good Press
Some people hunger
so much for recognition,
that lacking options,
they will gleefully settle
for fifteen minutes of shame.
No Stomach For Saccharine Sycophancy
Swimming in your stew
redolent with emotions
leaves an aftertaste
no amount of unctuous goo
can ever hope to disguise.
Harken Ozymandias
With your every stride
Fallen leaves and memories
Fragment into mulch.
You think yourself bold,
Decisive man of action:
Midas of decay;
Modern day Nero:
Tweeting while Rome succumbs
To internal flames.
Survey these ashes
Stark remains of the fury
From your careless match.
Where Colossus stood
Only dust and rubble stir
In warm autumn breeze
And yet:
Despite your chaos,
Slender verdant tendrils grow
Rooting your ruins
Proving to you, Wretched Waste,
That even now, hope remains.
Internal Locus Lost
What Narcissism!
Forgetting how to control
both temper and car,
he lays heavy on his horn
trying, vainly, to control
actions of other drivers.
Sharp Serrated Sarcasm
“You damned liberal!
I’ll bet you LOVED Obama!”
“You would lose that bet.
He was too conservative.”
Thrill to hot coffee spit-take.
Expected Voids
November’s slipping
Quickly into history,
Leaving, in its wake,
A predictable absence
In the forest canopy
On Gratitude…
A labor of love
Or, at least, one of duty,
Quickly forgotten
Still provides satisfaction…
If you don’t look too closely.
Procrastinator’s Crucifix
This is but a task
No more onerous than most
And yet we delay
Month after month after month
Crafting vast struggles from naught
Aroil in Pain 