Tag: #48Poems48Hours3

I sat to write four-dozen things;
I’ve written forty-seven.

The sun is golden in the sky,
And kind of looks like heaven;

As peace falls on the wintertime,
That’s constant, and abiding,

And I sit here, right after this,
For one more bit
Of writing

come see our angled innocence,
and taste our frozen lime,
come mirror our concupiscence,
and live outside of time.

come join me where the marrow grows,
in stems of our renewal;
and pay no damned attention to
how often we

are cruel

A vineyard’s barren yearly.
That doesn’t mean it’s dead —
Sometimes we must turn in to grow,
But this can be misread

By those who think that empty vines
Are death just masquerading —
Instead of knowing wine will come
And that it’s worth
The waiting

 watermelon on the grass
(tell me, now, should i feel blue?)
 there's a happy little lass
(how come, then, not me or you?)

 comes the sunshine in the meadow,
(i thought dark was here. alas.
 this kid didn't get the memo --)
 watermelon
              on
                   the
                         grass