2014 #183

our butterfly bush’s blue blossoms
are nearing seasonal disappearance
and boughs next door darken the peonies,
who shot their blooms around the longest day,
probably, but still make it their mission
to launch intimidation missiles
intended to swamp with weakness
the chrysanthemum confidence,
that it wears the gaudiest name
they’ve ever heard and they’ve sure heard
some god-awful gaudy names in these parts;
okay maybe that’s not what they say;
to truly tell the truth, that yearning
is left for the laziest season

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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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