pixies
prance ere cockcrow
amidst fine sterling trees,
but, dreams will come when morning’s glow
is known
——
57 is an older cinquain.
pixies
prance ere cockcrow
amidst fine sterling trees,
but, dreams will come when morning’s glow
is known
——
57 is an older cinquain.
those beets
smell foul, like feet
encased in dirty sheets;
thank you, but I’ll just stick to meat
and wheat!
—–
When I was a little girl, I really disliked beets. Now, I will consume them with pleasure. I suppose that my taste buds had to mature in order to enjoy them.
Is there a traditional Thanksgiving food that you have/had an aversion to? If you eat this food now, what swayed your taste buds into liking it? Merely the passage of time? I would be interested to hear your stories.
Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans! I hope that you are able to spend the day with loved ones–whether that means family, friends, or both.
mistakes
and false fancies
betray the feisty fakes
who have been attempting to seize
our keys
trumpets
raised to heaven
bellow for three cadets
whose days beneath the cruel sun
are done
fickle,
faded fellows,
fresh from Flitwick, trickle
into the film and flatten rows
of toes
I know
you are sorry,
but I will not bestow
mercy that bears no guarantee
for me
black veil,
who is beneath
your silk, adumbral wale?
such bewitching crimson lips wreathe
her teeth!
wizards
cloaked in ermine
course calmly through blizzards,
casting enchanted spells within
the din
lush grapes
line the pathways
that we aimlessly traipse
along, beneath sun’s thrashing rays
today
mystic
echoes bounced round
crazed, frightened faces, thick
with dread as screeching manes crowned
the sound