With apologies to Joyce Kilmer
I think there’s nothing quite so dumb
As humped up shoulder, callused thumb
Made stiff and sore from twittering
Amid misspellings, skittering
Across a screen. Oh, what a sight
To see a rosy tongue, screwed tight
By diamond studs. Above the eye,
Two safety pins are stuck awry.
Some green and orange or fuchsia hair,
One tattooed neck, no longer fair,
Repels such backward fools as me —
God hides his face and weeps to see.
The foolish think the wind will cease
From buffeting the trees
And earth will cease its mute release
Of seedlings in a freeze.
Time always comes when flapping geese
Dance skyward in a frieze.
Just when some warmth has signed a lease,
An icy breeze will seize.
A Summer Hour
A burgeoning bush, some butterflies,
Low wooden steps, warped, faded, rise
Amid the calm of idle talk —
The blur of shadows on the walk.
Sometimes a passing, random thought
Within winged fantasy is caught,
While puffed clouds in a bowl of blue
Lie quiet in the overview.
Inconsequential bits of light
Form auras there, against the night.