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barbed wire dreams
lit with candlelight
flickered away my childhood

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This is a random act of poetry inspired by the book I Never Saw Another Butterfly - specifically the entry titled Terezin written by Hanus Hachenburg IV (1944).

This book is a collection of children's drawings and poems from Terezin Concentration Camp. A total of 15,000 children under the age of fifteen passed through Terezin. Less than 100 survived.




Photo: Secret Dreams (google reuse)

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Firty Goodness

My sweet little rat terrier knows no bounds. He wants to participate in everything I do. That includes National Poetry Month. So it's with great pleasure that I introduce and welcome Elvis as my guest poet today.

Spring is in the air and that means one of my all time favorite goodies will come buzzin in ... flies! Otherwise affectionately known as firts.

Anticipation has me feeling poetic so I thought I would give a little rhyme a whirl. I hope you like it.

Firty Goodness

There once was a firt that flew
But when that firt fell to the ground
And on his back he spun around

I could not help but come and see
Was this morsel meant just for me?
Shall I put him out of his misery?

I thought I could and knew I should
So out came my tongue for the delicate treat
Green belly, wings and padded feet

Way too yummy to rush or crush
I took it slow between cheek and gum
Sweetly peppered heaven-sent plum

Yum :-)

Photo: Elviswantstogo

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Dad

leather chair by lamp
pipe with good tobacco and
a Louis Lamour

Photo "book" (google-reuse)

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Brain Fog

Yep, some days I just feel like this... *shrug*

I am a cardboard cutout
complete with brass prong joints
plastic floaty-pupil eyes and
rubber band thoughts

google reuse photo

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In The Night

I dream of fringed shawls
cedar bowls full of prayer
voices singing Holy Holy Holy

Photo: fringe on Prayer Shawl (google reuse)

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National Poetry Month!

A whole entire month dedicated to poetry... wheeeee!! I'm trying to write a poem a day as suggested by NaPoWriMo or at least make a contribution or two or three to the one, the only, the fabulous Cunning Poets Society.

Come on... get your wild little tootsies wet. See what poetic words are hidden in you!

I'll start with this...

THE VALLEY

not dry
not empty

lonely

full of souls
crying
trying
to find paradise

it smells of hell

maybe...

for him
it's money
pride
and too much sex

over there
hog jowls
grits
and buttermilk

hers
of rhythm
marijuana
and burnt rubber

and we...

must awake
uncover our mouths
cry out
stretch out
extend a hand

hurry!




photo "homeless" (google reuse)


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