Season of the Disease

In the face of petrol-dollar and stolen riches, the president still dies His hordes of physicians try his death to hide The citizens are in the dark and no one is in the know His kitchen cabinet covers up the cause of his death so…

Season of the Enlightened Ones

There they are. Moving through the square shoulder to shoulder in determined advance. An army of two-legged soldiers on alert to procure what they wait all night for. There on the pavement, between blades of grass; there lay the prize they will surely not pass….

Skay Hour 7

Season of the Grape   You swagger and return a blank smile To my conversation All my words have washed off you I read your face. I see the signs. I raise my own glass to my lips. Burgundy of the drink turns brown Blood…

Poetry Marathon Submission #7

Spring Kigo, Haiki Set Ann WJ White Nesting birds arrive. Singing bright lullabies near, Filling the green trees. Old frogs leap and call, Turning spring dances in air, Waiting for lovers. Spring’s optimism Decorates blooming plants and Leaf kaleidoscopes Storms lash out above, Elaborate referees…

PHYSICS FOR CATS BOP 

  photo credit: jeymonde, London 2019 PHYSICS FOR CATS BOP                              A late hour 6 poem   The world is topsy-turvy, unhinged. And what if I no longer have a furry black cat to caress & cuddle in this groundless time of staying at home,…

Season of the Poets (Hour 7)

Season of the Poets They came together on a summer day, tumbling and rambling across the screen. They followed prompts or ignored prompts, rhymed or roamed free. They meshed and melded, caromed and caroused. An odd moment this Season of the Poets. No commonality among…

Season of the Bard

Crouched in the dark, stats flicker In an out, rolling damage, click clack the dice fall, skeletons clatter on paper shadows and ink dreams follow a party. Dragons, elves, queens and kings all fall to my rule. With a strum of my strings and a…

Distance

Distance, not mere word kills me like sword. Feelings desire for him needs want him craves search him, at last its only dark and grim. The roses, deep in my pages finds him missing the way he is kissing. Distance remains the same stupid, quiet…