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.


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


  2. yeoldefoole says:

    damn! this is fabulous!!!


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