2014 #157

If only because of genes
a kraut is a kraut,
a frog a frog, a wasp
a wasp, and a yank a yank

and a rebel always ready
to paint fields red; fences
march meanwhile in off-white
army ant masquerade

masks, mandible to mandible,
mowing grasses overgrown
and leaving that scent of summer
in the wake to float to swaddle

a lily lonely
and in depression so
darkly drooping, the feeble
bereft of belief mirage.

But to get back to our launch,
any genus we name
carts miscellaneous
baggage or pushes a wheelbarrow

baring hooks who snarl barbs,
revealing the reason alchemy
is alchemy is alchemy is
the mirage where the clock is not.

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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.
This entry was posted in poem, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to 2014 #157

  1. this one made me sit up straight and pay full attention

    Like

  2. yeoldefoole says:

    damn! this is fabulous!!!

    Like

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