Helping Turtles Across the Road

It is a worry

I know

the circling of many a crow

I cannot avoid the chaos maneuvering…

just below the surface

and

well underground

Vast, mingling, elements casting spells seamlessly

or…

without a sound

Though my actions be deliberate and quiet

Most observations are eager

So much so,

I yearn for the simplicity of a clown

Why is it…

I cannot scratch a basic itch when no evidence found

And, still be invoked to chewing gum while helping turtles destined to go…

where they are bound

Bloom’s Bosom

Influx of rolling indifference louder than five miles of concrete’s excrement…unburdened

Meanwhile, wild posy, sputter and urge forth

Do I dare to entrust this funny business?

Me with my

riches of substance, plastic and artificially sweet

overkill my convenience

complicit with my mocking flair

Waltzing by water, bloom and weeds

There and then, a byway well paved in its deceit

Juxtaposing all of the willfulness I can bring

and

what lay beneath the cracks…

the cradle of Bloom’s bosom…impeccably, complete.

 

 

 

Higher Learning

Black mirror, where does your despondency lay?

Have the winged southern bells returned to proffer contemplative advice?

Do they know your pools, somber and profound?

Does anyone accept our seas plaintiff and underrated?

Our mires and moats grow heavy with all that we’ve learned.

water

Jubilee’s Stance

Crows have picked all sanctimonious bones from my husk, so over the hill

Doubts hurl about in the frenzy of drafty April’s afternoon

Theologians with their vestments of velvet billowing from the tundras

could never let their fibers flounder in the stance of this jubilee

This epiphany defies sectarian gospel

So much so, any shallow impetus…neither could not or would not, draw a rebirth improvisation from established misery

A sense of victory weaves as poetic vines in circles around the lies once fed

The earth does not grow beneath a prostrate bed