2014 #107

Now there’s a coast gazing at her city
under her arch which lining may
be of the farthest thing from silvery

(yet let none use lips to declare unsavory)
but the fringe is casting a glow that hums
or yearns to hum to the groan going on
with urban ant life who’ve no idea how

antsy they are viewed for ants haven’t breath
to spare for letters – hardly their own
which is why the groaning is wanting

to widen the acoustics and thinks
a muffle will keep the zingers who tug
for freedom to shake and rattle, dozing
in the safe zone thus toning or taming reverb

which is what a sparrow out there is
no doubt disputing, though it is indeed
curious where all those juicy chokecherries

come from and can switch to the wet watermelon
seed to punctuate what must be such
a frustrating point because it doesn’t get
that it doesn’t matter how loud or clear

or elegant or eloquent, ants, as stated,
simply are not in to letters
being way too antsy

and running around, a queen
on each mind – a heavy thing too,
not even a muscular carpenter
will dare offer sass or not follow
each decree to the … well it
couldn’t be letter since ants ain’t
in to letters – anyway,

that’s not the care of the coast of glowing gold
gazing at her city humming under her arch…

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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