2014 #264

Maybe maple and beech getting naked
motivates emotion while walking the lane
these feet knew when Batman was big; men
entombed of late around the present age
and a mind might slide into a melancholy
rhapsody blaring full blast across
the yawning canyon and just then there was

a scratchy throat-clear. Turtle. Tortoise.
Sitting against a dead log. Wouldn’t guess
turtle or tortoise and didn’t see
turtle or tortoise at first except
next to the turtle or tortoise
sat the house. Turtle or tortoise
threw a ripe cherry tomato

so it bounced in his palm
and from his other claws
he popped remnant of another
ripe cherry tomato and barely
bothered to touch scaly wrist
to his reddened juicy beak;
quit bouncing and went to contemplative

caress of the other ripe cherry tomato,
then said, “been around long enough
to see greedy boxes and bullheaded snappers
try to carry more than one house; never went
anywhere. Nope. One house. All I need.
Simple furnishings and sure I don’t crawl
far fast, but cares never burden me.”


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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