It should be dark.
The sun is down.
Moon glow illuminates
a snow glazed world.
The scrape of the snow shovel begins
just as my alarm rings.
The snow is heavy and ankle deep.
You should take my vehicle today, he says.
The studded tires stick to the road.
This is the safer route.
He doesn’t say I love you,
but I know it
We’re going to wrap the outside tree.
Just round and round
but these are different colours
we should go up and down to mix,
she suggests too tentatively.
So now the tree is half one
half the other.
instead of blended harmony.
(Just a poem about what went on today as hubby and I put up the lights, and suddenly I’m reading it now and seeing it as a rather profound metaphor- also- where the heck did that rhyme come from? >shrug< Poetry, eh? It does its own thing!)
then they peeled back their faces
you said to me.
I poured over words
with the focus of any girl
trying to impress her crush.
Oh, how the story spoke hidden horror!
Everyone in disguise.
No one revealing their true selves.
Forty years meditating on those masks.
2020! Society in masquerade!
Kindness, care, concern: all fake.
The true horror’s been revealed.
The house echoes.
Drapes she made hang on the windows,
the last pieces of her here,
the lingering scent of bread baked
months ago, as
her last messages of appreciation,
her last independent acts.
(These were fun demos written with my students as we worked through some poetry devices on “Poetry Friday-the Wednesday edition”)
Super stinky socks
So easily knee socks crease
Stinky socks stick to my shoes
They slurp when I pull them out.
But say! My socks still rock!
Socks are mittens for feet
Comfort like a warm fire in winter.
My wooly socks hug my feet
My silent shout of happiness
declares my stinky socks the finest perfume in the world.
I like my socks.
(Can you find assonance, alliteration, consonance, hyperbole internal rhyme, metaphor, onomatopoeia, oxymoron, personification, simile, and understatement?)
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The clouds have come to Earth,
obscuring our panorama
narrowing the perspective
until the view is simply you and me:
this nebulous emergence,
hope and mystery.
A leaf grips tight
to where it sprung,
all through the summer storms.
But when autumn comes,
a leaf’s released,
to discover sky and more.
I can hoo-hoot in the empty rooms
a lost owl listening to an echo
where there used to be you.