The early bud gets the storm.

The early bud gets the storm.

gurgling downspout
serenades my sleepless night
I long for crickets
Sunday school teacher
white-haired and diminutive
lessons lost on youth.

First fire, then calm hues.
Look to the sunrise this day.
Hope dawns for us all.

thunderbolt black sky
lightning flash flood waters rise
tears fall from on high
Okay, I’m giving this another shot…
I have a hate — hate relationship with the new WordPress Editor. Seems everything looks fine when I post something, but when it goes out to email subscribers, it ends up a mess. This is attempt two to see if I got the spacing right. Sorry for doubling up on your inboxes.
If there are any WordPress aces out there, maybe you can school me in how to get verse to show up correctly without double-spaced lines, and without losing all formatting when sent out to subscribers. Arrrgh!
My thoughts
skip across the surface of
a densely overgrown pond,
then vanish – plop! –
beneath the surface
as ripples flee the scene.
Your thoughts
search the shadowed depths of
ancient wells, then reemerge
glistening with brilliance and
shedding droplets of sagacity
to quench the thirsts of all who imbibe.
I think
if I ever came across one of these
wells of wisdom, I’d likely
stumble right in and be lost
forever, a speck of irrelevance
in a pool of adults.

My thoughts
skip across the surface of
a densely overgrown pond,
then vanish – plop! –
beneath the surface
as ripples flee the scene.
Your thoughts
search the shadowed depths of
ancient wells, then reemerge
glistening with brilliance and
shedding droplets of sagacity
to quench the thirsts of all who imbibe.
I think
if I ever came across one of these
wells of wisdom, I’d likely
stumble right in and be lost
forever, a speck of irrelevance
in a pool of adults.

Don’t turn your head and dab your eyes.
Face square the scene, then raise your cries.
Such treachery we must defy,
prosecute and rectify.
The People’s House they desecrate.
Within its halls they defecate.
Seditious cowards’ acts of hate
true patriots will not tolerate.

play all the octaves
highs and lows create the score
melodies of life
tear gas, shattered glass;
bloodshed, no shred of honor.
Winter in my soul.